Always Another Morning
by berelinde
Summary: Mostly NWN2 OC. Dawnbringer Kayla's world is about to become much more complicated. Adventure, good and evil, even love might wait beyond the next sunrise. Ch 55: Discretion. Kayla learns when to act, when to watch, and when to look the other way.
1. Harvest Fair

"There's always another morning." Kayla lived with those words ringing through her skull. Usually, she reflected, that morning would be just like the one before, but today, everything would change. The annual Harvest Fair marked a rite of passage for West Harbor youths, a passage to adulthood. Everyone with less than nineteen summers was allowed to participate, but for those in their eighteenth year, it marked the official end of childhood. And this would be Kayla's last year.

Kayla's friends, Bevil Starling and Amie Fern, had helped her win the Harvest Cup. It was a small honor, as far as those things went, but the farmers of the village took it very seriously. Every year, the village youths would team up to compete in four challenges, the Harvest Brawl, the Archery Competition, the Tourney of Talent, and the Knave's Challenge. With the help of Bevil, Amie, and Kipp, of course, since they needed a rogue, and who better than the village's most aspiring rapscallion, she won all four. Georg told her that she had been the first since the legendary Cormick to do that. For once, Kayla believed him. She saw the truth of it in the face of her mentor, Brother Merring, who looked fit to burst with pride at her accomplishment. Kayla laughed aloud at the memory of the cleric's reaction to their victory. He'd knocked the wind out of Bevil with all his congratulatory back-thumping, and swept Kayla and Amie up in a jubilant hug before remembering that he was supposed to be impartial. But he'd treated them all to beakers of harvest mead, and regaled any within earshot with tales of their triumph over the Mossfelds in the Harvest Brawl until Daeghun sourly reminded him that the day also marked the end of Kayla's days as his accolyte.

But even Daeghun couldn't ruin Brother Merring's good humor. The man had superhuman reserves of it. And Kayla knew he needed all of it, since the farmers of West Harbor gave him little enough reason to be happy. They had not embraced Brother Merring's faith, though he never stopped trying. Kayla had been his sole pupil, though he told her often enough that he was content. He said that he'd rejoice in his one candle, rather than curse the darkness.

But Daeghun had been right. Kayla's novitiate had ended that morning. In Neverwinter, Brother Merring told her, her ordination would be celebrated with a ceremony at dawn, and then she and any other new Dawnbringers would be welcomed into Lathander's clergy with a breakfast banquet. Here in the Mere, though, she'd had to settle for leading the dawn rite herself, on her own for the first time, with Brother Merring offering encouragement and occasional hints when she stumbled over a word. Bevil and Amie had joined them for a celebratory breakfast consisting of bread, sweet butter, and bitter coffee. Brother Merring somberly informed her that the last item was absolutely essential for those who followed their faith, but whose bodies protested at rising before dawn every day.

"Dawnbringer Kayla," Brother Merring now called her, but he said it with a father's pride. Sometimes, she wished that the cleric had been her father, or had been given the care of her, instead of Daeghun. She'd told Brother Merring that once, more than ten years before, after he'd sat up all night nursing her through a childhood fever. He'd stammered something about the will of the gods, and how he was still her spiritual father, but he deferred to Daeghun. He could not have known then that her soul belonged to Lathander.

He'd been a fixture in West Harbor as long as she could remember, though she knew he had come to West Harbor after the war. Retta Starling, Bevil's mother, might have taught all the village children their letters, but it was always Brother Merring who supervised their games. He taught them to play hurley, a rough sport where players used flattened clubs to drive a wooden ball through opposing goals, and to throw javelins, and all the other noisy things that children love. Kayla had been an active child, with little patience for sitting indoors learning her lessons. It was only natural that she was drawn to physical challenges that tested her strength and her agility. But more than that, she was eager to hear all that Brother Merring told her of Lathander. The rebellious child who could not be bothered to properly learn her maths would still listen in wide-eyed wonder to lessons in faith. Daeghun was little pleased with his foster-daughter's obvious inclination toward Lathander, but he consented to her novitiate. At the time, Kayla thought he allowed it because he was too indifferent to protest, but in retrospect, he probably realized that he would have little chance of discouraging a legitimate calling.

Bevil had been her friend... forever? Yes, that sounded about right. The two of them were of an age, and had formed a fast friendship almost as soon as they were old enough to talk. But it was an unequal friendship. Though he was bigger than Kayla, and generally got along with everyone, he cheerfully deferred to her. Privately, Kayla wished he'd stand up for himself more, but she never really pushed him to do it. It was a shame, really, Kayla thought, because she knew that Bevil's morals might even have made a paladin of him, but he just never had the drive to see it through. And there were no paladins in the Mere.

Kayla's friendship with Amie was more recent, though no less treasured. Amie was a mage's apprentice, and somewhat of an oddity in West Harbor. It was the Mossfelds that precipitated their friendship.

Amie was a shy girl, not used to the brash, rough-and-tumble ways of West Harbor youths, so when Wyl Mossfeld flattered her, she believed him, little guessing how he would treat her once she gave him what he wanted. Kayla could have told Amie that surrendering her virginity to Wyl Mossfeld was foolish, that he would not treasure the gift, nor would he respect her afterward, but at the time, Amie had no friend to tell her that. No, it was afterward, when Wyl was bragging of his conquest with any that would listen, that Kayla sought out Amie's friendship. Amie was crushed by the malice of the rumors. At first, Kayla looked only to comfort her, to reassure her that no matter what Wyl Mossfeld said, Amie was a friend worth having. But Kayla, too, needed a female friend and confidante, and their friendship flourished. Bevil was inducted into Amie's small circle of friends, and the three of them became inseparable.

And so it was that the three of them won the Harvest Cup, and presided over the Harvest Ball. Now there was a contradiction. The only resemblance it bore to the name was that people were on their feet and sound was coming out of musical instruments. Georg Redfell, leader of the town militia, was sawing away on a fiddle, the farmer Orlen was pounding out the beat on the bottom of a washing copper, and Lazlo the mead-seller was doing a brisk business. Bevil blew across the mouth of one of Lazlo's jugs and drank from it by turns. Retta Starling and Brother Merring were the only ones actually dancing at the moment, swinging each other around and laughing. Kayla smiled at their antics. She'd never question her mentor, but she did wonder why he hadn't just made the widow the offer the entire village was speculating about. Retta Starling still had small children at home, but that wouldn't discourage a priest of Lathander. They loved children, she knew, and Bevil's younger siblings would gain a fine father in Brother Merring.

Kayla felt a tug on her cloak.

"Want to dance?" Ward Mossfeld asked sheepishly. Kayla blinked back her surprise. His eye was all but swolen shut from the beating she'd given him during the Harvest Brawl. But Ward wasn't the sort to take out his revenge on the green, so she accepted.

"You've got a good left," he observed.

"Thanks," Kayla replied. "I think you bruised a rib there, yourself."

"'S all good fun, right?" Ward's sincerity shone on his broad, simple face. "No hard feelings?"

"No, of course not," Kayla smiled. Ward was always the last to join in his brothers' fights, the least eager in their mischief. Kayla had long suspected that if his brothers would just leave him alone, Ward would have turned out all right. And it was just possible that Ward was a little brighter than his brothers. In a village like West Harbor, with its two dozen families, well, the boys had to marry sooner or later, and there just weren't that many girls.

Ward gave her hand a grateful squeeze, then went off to try to mend fences with Amie. Kayla's eyes opened wider. Bevil was standing right there! Surely Ward couldn't have forgotten how angry Bevil was with all the Mossfeld boys, for Amie's sake. Kira couldn't hear them, but she could see Bevil standing between Amie and Ward, posturing and puffing out his chest. Poor Ward. Kayla didn't doubt for a moment that Bevil had enough mead in him to start a brand new Harvest Brawl, right there on the green. But once more, Ward surprised her. Ward said something, Bevil's chest deflated, and he and Ward shook hands. Bevil offered Ward a pull from his jug, and the two of them went off to talk to Lazlo. Kayla hoped it wasn't about getting a refill.

Kayla was just walking over to talk to Amie when Pitney Lannon claimed her for a dance, so Kayla went over to stand by Pitney's sisters, instead. They sniffed and turned away at her approach, snubbing her. Fine, if that was they way they wanted it. She was spared the boredom of standing on the sidelines by Georg. He'd passed off his fiddle to Brother Merring, and asked her for a dance.

"So," he started, "who do you reckon will be wed first? Retta and Merring or Bevil and Amie?"

Georg did love his gossip, and he had a pack full of tall tales all his own. He amused her with both before the dance ended, then escorted her to the refreshments table and helped her to some cakes.

"You've got a bit of eating to do if you're going to fill out to proper Harborman size," Georg joked, but Kira caught him looking over her shoulder at the Lannon girls.

"Is that so, Georg?" she countered, raising an eyebrow and nodding in the direction of his gaze. "I don't see you complaining about slender builds in certain company. At least not in certain blonde company."

Georg had the good grace to blush. He cleared his throat, and offered her some fresh cider.

"I'd better go talk to Bevil," he remarked, with mild disapproval. "Bevil's in the militia now, and Ward Mossfeld, too, for that matter. And I think Bevil might just have had enough mead."

"Oh, let him have tonight," Kayla smiled. "Who knows? Maybe he'll work up enough courage to let you win your bet with Tarmas."

"Oh ho! So you know about that, do you? Seems like I'm not the only one who likes to know what's going on."

Kayla cursed her glibness. The idea that she might be as notorious a gossip as Georg Redfell was not one she relished. But West Harbor did not have many secrets, nor many cares beyond the everyday ones of survival. Who was courting whom was everyone's favorite topic. Some had placed bets on which marriage would happen first. Privately, Kayla hoped that Georg would lose, though she had no doubts that both couples would eventually wind up together. Brother Merring had been alone in this swamp far too long for her not to wish him happy.

Georg excused himself to see about setting out more lanterns, but he forbade the champions to take part. So the three of them sat on hay bales near the green, sipping harvest mead, half-listening to Brother Merring's increasingly sleepy stories of Fairs past, and watching the moon rise over the Mere.

"Still awake, I see," Daeghun was suddenly at her elbow. Though he stood a head shorter than Kayla, he somehow managed to loom over them. Brother Merring, who had drifted into a doze, snapped awake, and stammered something about the hour, though it was not yet two candles past sundown. Harvest Fair or no, West Harbor was a farming village, and farmers generally went to bed when the sun did.

"I'll need you to catch Gaelan before he leaves tomorrow," Daeghun continued, "and you'll want to be up at dawn for whatever it is you do every morning."

Kayla rolled her eyes sympathetically at Bevil's scowl and sighed. She loved her foster father in her way, but she inwardly lamented that it wouldn't have killed him to offer her even token congratulations. But she knew better than to expect them. She hugged Amie, waved goodnight to Bevil and gave Brother Merring a filial kiss on the forehead before turning to follow Daeghun.

"Just a moment, Kayla," Bevil caught at her sleeve. "There's... there's something I wanted to show you. Want to take a walk?"

Kayla shot a glance at Amie, who was yawning dramatically over her mug, and at Brother Merring, who was studying Bevil curiously, oddly alert for a man who had been visibly nodding over his cups not ten seconds before.

"I suppose," she agreed. "Want to go, Amie?"

Bevil's sputtering protest took Kayla by surprise, but Amie didn't take offense. She exchanged an amused glance with Brother Merring before getting up herself.

"Thanks, Kayla, but I'm just sooo sleepy," Amie giggled, not looking sleepy in the slightest, "and I've got chores at Tarmas' workshop before I can go to bed. You know how he is about his alembics and whatnot."

Bevil's rudeness and Amie's evasiveness were just about enough to discourage Kayla from following Bevil, but a look at Bevil's homely, earnest face convinced her that she'd be better off letting the young man say whatever it was he wanted to say. She thought back to that morning, when he and Amie had greeted her together, and smiled. If Bevil expected Kayla to object to a match between him and Amie, he was in for a disappointment. She smiled, congratulated herself on her perception, and allowed Bevil to lead her down the path toward the edge of the Mere.


	2. Bevil

Bevil and Kayla walked in silence to the edge of the village, near his family's home. He didn't go to the door, though. Kayla was starting to wonder where he was leading her when he finally spoke.

"It isn't far," he said, shyly taking her hand. His hand was sweaty, and his touch a bit shaky. "There's a path out back of the house that leads down to the brook, and there's a good view of the sky."

Kayla stole a glance at his profile. He looked nervous. Something wasn't right, but she couldn't quite figure out what it was.

Bevil led her to a grassy slope by the stream, where the trees that bordered the Mere parted, delivering Bevil's promised view of the moon. He spread out his cloak on the grass and beckoned for her to sit down on it. "It's a warm night," he explained, "but the dew is rising."

They sat in companionable silence for a while, staring at the moon through the trees. It was a fine, mild night, and it was relaxing lying there, looking up at the moon, but after a while, Kayla started wishing that Bevil would just tell her about his understanding with Amie so she could home and go to bed. She raised herself up on one elbow to look at her friend.

"You didn't bring me out here to look at the moon, did you, Bevil?" Kayla asked gently.

"No," Bevil gulped, " Kayla..."

He turned to look at her, too. She had never seen him look so anxious. He swallowed again.

"Kayla... can I kiss you?"

Reality caught up with Kayla and knocked her over. Bevil? Interested in her?

Before she'd had time to fully process this revelation, Bevil was already embracing her. His kiss was awkward, eager, and very insistent. She tensed in surprise, pulling away from him. He froze.

"I'm sorry, Kayla!" he stammered, "I got carried away! I'm really sorry!"

After only the barest of hesitations, she returned his embrace.

"No, Bevil, it's all right," she reassured him, "You just caught me by surprise. I don't mind."

He kissed her again, more shyly this time. To her surprise, she found herself responding to it. Her free arm was across his shoulder, his free hand cupping her cheek. She could feel him trembling.

"You're cold," she observed. "And we're lying on your cloak. Here, I'll put mine over both of us."

He made no reply but to draw her more closely to him. She could feel his chest heaving. He kissed her again, hungrily. His hands were on her face, in her hair, on her neck, moving down her body...

For a moment, Kayla considered stopping him. She wasn't sure she was ready for this. She'd never even kissed anyone before, and she was pretty sure Bevil hadn't, either. But then she thought about Amie, and Wyl Mossfeld. At the time, she'd told Amie that it had to happen to everyone sooner or later, and she meant it. Why not with Bevil? He wasn't handsome, but she knew that he had a good heart. He'd never make her regret lying with him. And his kisses were beginning to awake her desire.

He'd clearly lost himself in the moment. His hands moved clumsily over her gown, caressing her, urging her to caress him. She could feel him straining against his clothing. He let out a soft moan through his kisses when she touched him. He stretched out, letting her stroke him. He fumbled at his trousers, exposing himself to her, but when her hand touched his bare flesh, he seized her hand, flinching at the contact.

"Kayla..." he groaned, his voice hoarse, "I... I can't take much more... I've never..."

"Me, neither," she whispered, "but I want to... with you."

"Are you sure?" his question was almost a gasp.

In answer, she pulled him closer, rolling back. He got the idea, tangling himself in her skirts even as he hiked them up. She wondered distractedly if it would hurt when he took her maidenhead, but she was aching for him already. She opened her eyes and looked at him. His own eyes were closed, his face fixed in an expression of intense concentration. She felt him pressing against her bare thigh. She wrapped her arms around his neck, brought his lips down to meet hers, raised her knees around him, and braced herself.

It was over almost before it started. She felt a pinch as her maidenhead yielded to him. She stifled a gasp and clung to him. She felt a vague, achey strain as he thrust into her, but it was soon over. With a muffled cry and a violent shudder, he collapsed, sobbing into her hair. He gulped air, his whole body shook. He rolled back onto his side, pulling her aginst his chest. He, stroked her hair, kissed her face, muttered incomprehensible endearments. His pulse still pounded where his skin met hers.

Kayla burrowed her face into the hollow of his shoulder and allowed him to hold her, unsuccessfully willing her own frustrated desire to subside.

She pulled her cloak up around them both and listened to Bevil's breathing slow. His embrace relaxed, and she suspected that he'd drifted off to sleep. She was feeling pretty groggy herself, she had to admit, but she fought the temptation to sleep. It was barely midnight, but they weren't that far from the Starling house. Kayla didn't want to think about Bevil's mother setting out on some unexpected errand and finding the pair of them wrapped around each other with Kayla's skirts around her waist and Bevil's leggings around his knees. She also wondered why the thought of anyone finding out about this bothered her. Bevil wasn't Wyl Mossfeld. He'd never accuse her of promiscuity. And it wasn't as if there were any stigma attached to the act itself. While the villagers frowned on wantonness, and while they enjoyed speculating about the next likely marriage, they wouldn't much care what two adults did for their own pleasure.

She looked over at Bevil again. He was looking at her, his eyes full of some soft emotion Kayla couldn't name.

"Gods, Kayla, I love you..." he said softly.

"Oh, no," Kayla groaned.

His face lit with his concern.

"No, Kayla, it isn't like that, I swear it!" he protested. "I'm not just saying that because... you know, and it isn't the mead talking. This... all this... I hadn't planned for this to happen. I'm not sorry that it did, but I didn't mean... that is... I meant to kiss you, but we got carried away... I should have told you first, I know, but I still mean it. I love you, Kayla..."

His voice trailed off as he looked at her. She tried, but she couldn't keep the sadness out of her face.

"Bevil," she ventured tentatively, "we need to talk."

She saw something glitter in the corner of his eye. This was not going to be easy. She gathered him up into her arms, kissed his face, then set out to say what needed to be said.

"You don't love me." There was accusation in Bevil's voice.

"Bevil, you have to understand. I don't know if I can love anyone like that. You know what my home was like."

"You would have been better off raised by wolves," Bevil agreed bitterly.

Kayla smiled at him, stroking his cheek. "You always say that," she observed with relief.

He pulled away from her abruptly, violently. He sat up, pushing her cloak onto her.

"So why did you... Why, Kayla?" his voice was angry.

"Because it had to be somebody, Bevil, and I wanted that somebody to be the one person I knew would never hurt me, the one person who means more to me than anybody else on Toril."

Bevil's anger deflated as quickly as it rose.

"So you do love me."

"I don't know," Kayla sighed. "I don't know if I can even understand love like you mean it, but I do know that I care about you, more than anybody else. I know that if I was going to share something that special, I wanted to make sure I'd never regret it. And I won't. No matter where this life takes us, we'll always have that."

Bevil smiled in spite of himself, then grew serious again.

"It means a lot to hear you say that, but I still need to know... do you think you ever will love me?"

"I might," Kayla lied, "you never know."

She kissed him again to silence him, but she hated herself for the deception. Up until that last sentence, everything she had said had been Tyr's own truth. She knew she did love him, as much as she ever would, but it was a friend's love.

"So..." he'd started dressing himself, "What do we say?"

"We went for a walk," Kayla suggested. "We haven't been gone all that long."

Kayla could see Bevil blush in the moonlight. "Sorry about that... next time, it will be better... if you want a next time, that is..."

She kissed him in reassurance. "I know, Bevil. One day at a time, all right? Your tunic is on inside out."

Bevil laughed. "Then it was inside out this morning, because I never took it off!"

Kayla was still mostly dressed, so her toilette was nothing more than doing up a few laces and picking the leaves out of her braids. She turned to pick up Bevil's cloak and felt a surge of panic at the glistening dark patch on it. She was willing to bet there was one just like it on her skirt. She cursed herself for lack of foresight. Bevil stared at her stupidly, obviously not making the connection.

"Oh, no..." she moaned.

"What?" he asked, still clueless.

"I said I'd never done that before. I should have realized I'd bleed."

Bevil's face creased in concern. "Are you all right? You weren't lying on my knife or anything, were you? There isn't much blood."

Kayla rolled her eyes, but explained it anyway. Bevil's concern turned to embarrassment, but then he laughed.

"If that isn't the perfect excuse!" he laughed. "Hits two bottles with one bolt. Give me the Harvest Cloak, it's green like mine. There's a stream right there. Wash out your dress and my cloak, and we can say you fell in the brook."

"Oh, you'd just love that," Kayla laughed, relieved that Bevil was starting to accept her rejection with good grace. "You get to play the hero, and I get to play the oaf." She sobered a bit. "But there's one more thing, Bevil... your small clothes... sorry, I didn't think of it until now."

"No one is going to see them," he said with typical male indifference.

"Who does your laundry?"

"Ah. Good point. Well, I can wash them myself, for a change. Come on, in you go. If I'm going to 'rescue' you, you've got to get wet."

The bank was slippery, and when she approached it, she fell in for real. She gasped at the cold water, but made short work of her laundry. In the end, Bevil had to throw her an end of the Harvest Cloak and haul her back up the slope, soaking the cloak in the process. Kayla was blue and shaking with the cold, but very, very awake.

Bevil fretted over her, and suggested stopping by his house for some dry clothes for her, but she rejected that idea. Retta would not need flimsy excuses to explain what her son and Kayla were doing behind her house at midnight after the Harvest Fair. Better to approach the green from the bridge.

"Why don't you want anyone to know?" Bevil asked.

"Because we aren't promised to each other," Kayla's words sounded cruel even to herself, but she didn't want to leave Bevil with any illusions. Seeing his hurt expression, she continued. "It was special, Bevil, and I'll never regret it, but you're my best friend, and I don't want to make you any promises I can't keep."

Her words were just rolling over him, she knew, but sooner or later, he'd understand.

They walked along the stream in silence, toward the bridge that led to the cottage that Kayla shared with Daeghun. Kayla considered going inside for dry clothes, but discarded the idea. No, they'd been gone too long already. She shivered and let Bevil lead her back to the green.

Amie, Brother Merring and Georg were still there, chatting quietly. Pitney Lannon had joined them. Kayla could see him sitting next to Amie, weaving blue mallow flowers into her blond braids. Retta Starling was there, too, sitting on Brother Merring's hay bale and leaning against the cleric, who had his arm around her. At Bevil's approach, Brother Merring dropped his arm and Retta put a bit of space between them, but Kayla thought they needn't have bothered on Bevil's account. Bevil seemed to be concentrating on the cold hand he still held in his.

When they got close enough for the seated villagers to notice Kayla's wet clothing, Brother Merring jumped to his feet.

"You're wet through, child!" he fretted, draping his own cloak over her. "What happened?"

"I slipped on the grass and fell in the stream," Kayla said truthfully. "Bevil pulled me out."

Retta muttered a short spell that made Kayla's clothing hiss and steam, but in a moment, her clothing was dry and she was warm again.

"Oh, you foolish girl," Retta chided. "And you're no better, Bevil. You know better than to let her go too close to the stream when it's too dark to see the path."

Kayla could see Bevil redden in the dim light.

"It wasn't his fault," Kayla interjected. "I didn't give him a chance to stop me."

"And what were you doing down there, anyway?" Retta wondered. "There isn't much too see, this late."

"I thought I saw a turtle," Kayla lied.

"At night?" Retta asked skeptically.

"That's probably why she went to go look," Brother Merring suggested helpfully, "since it would have been an unusual thing to see this long past sundown. Come on, Retta, Lazlo's still got a bottle of his special stock left. I'll treat you to a glass."

"Thank you, Glen, I'd like that," Retta accepted. Now it was Kayla's turn for surprise. She supposed that her mentor must have a personal name, but she'd never thought to ask him what it was.

With that, Bevil and Kayla joined the small crowd gathered around the green. Pitney Lannon looked likely to abandon his seat by Amie, but Bevil waved him back down and took a seat on a haybale by Kayla instead, surreptitiously putting his arm around her waist. Georg Redfell looked puzzled for a moment, then got up, muttering something about going to see Tarmas before he turned in. Kayla wondered how much money Georg had riding on this bet, and hoped he'd change his wager to include Pitney Lannon, because Amie certainly seemed to be enjoying his company. Kayla couldn't blame her for that. The man was blond like his sisters, but with a proper Harborman's build, as Georg would say. He was easily the best-looking man in the village, and even if he had to split his family's land with his sisters, he'd still have enough left to keep Amie warm and dry.

Their little party did not last long. Brother Merring procured the promised treat, and poured each of them a bit of the sweet liquor. Its warmth dispelled the last of the chill Kayla had taken with her dip in the stream, and left her feeling mellow and content, and very drowsy.

"Come on, Kayla," Bevil's voice startled her back to waking. She'd fallen asleep in the hollow of his arm. "I'll walk you home."

Everyone else seemed to be saying their good-nights as well, so she took his arm and let him escort her back up the path toward her cottage. He turned her to face him at the door, embracing her. Kayla resigned herself to the fact that he wasn't going to leave without a goodnight kiss, but when her lips met his, she was in no hurry to end it. His kiss was soft and lingering, and reawakened her frustrated desires. She wasn't sure if it was a good idea to encourage him, but at that moment, all she could think about was how good he was making her feel. She wrapped her arms around him and drew him closer, pressing against him. Their height was nearly matched, so when she pressed her hips against his, she could feel his response.

"Want to come inside," Kayla asked. If she was going to lie with Bevil again, she didn't want it to be in the dewy grass.

"Daeghun..." Bevil started to protest.

"He won't be back for hours," Kayla reassured him. "He likes to take his reverie outside, when the weather's fair."

Bevil followed her eagerly into the house. She fumbled with the lantern, then finally got it lit. It cast unflattering shadows on Bevil's features, but Kayla didn't want to break her neck on the stairs. Besides, the light probably wasn't doing much for her own, at the moment, but Bevil didn't seem to mind.

Bevil had been in her room before, of course. They'd grown up together, and when rain prevented them from playing outside, they'd fought countless battles with wooden soldiers on her bedroom floor. But neither of them had their minds on that, at the moment.

This time, Kayla was determined that they should be comfortable. She tugged Bevil's tunic off, then his shirt, ignoring his swearing when his head got stuck. He fumbled at the laces of her gown, but she took over when it became clear that he was just knotting them worse. Now in just her chemise, she had time to look at Bevil while he wrestled with his leggings and boots. His body was lean, just starting to fill out into the broad-chested promise of his Harborman blood. He didn't have much body hair, but he seemed proud of what he did have, letting the light from the lantern catch on the rust-colored strands that were starting to spring from his chest. Kayla suppressed a giggle at his posing, tugged off her chemise, and embraced him once more. With nothing but his small clothes between them, she could feel every line of his body against hers. The feel of his skin against hers excited her further. She felt his drawers slide to the ground. She stroked him eagerly, even as he stroked her. His breathing was becoming ragged again. Kayla hoped he'd be able to contain himself longer this time.

She gently steered him toward her bed and pressed him down onto it. It was too narrow for them to lie side by side, so she lay atop him, pinning him under her. She slid down until she could feel him between her thighs, then further, so that he was just at the verge of entering her. She stifled his moans with a kiss and pressed herself down upon him completely. She gasped at the feel of him inside her, but the fullness fed a pleasurable ache that had only been delayed before, not satisfied.

Now it was her turn to lose herself. She rocked back and forth on him, never noticing that his fingers dug into her hips or that he moaned in time to her movements. She felt a new urgency, and drove herself against him relentlessly. At last, she was seized by the same release she had seen in Bevil earlier that evening, and felt herself clench around him in time to the spasms that were wracking her body. The intensity of it was almost painful, but when it receeded at last, it left her feeling achey, still, but in a pleasant, satisfied way.

At last, she became aware of Bevil's hands gripping her hips, pulling her forcefully onto him. His face was contorted with something that looked like pain. She kissed him.

"Almost..." he gasped, then his whole body went rigid. He thrust painfully deep, drew one shuddering breath, and held it. Kayla could feel him twitching inside her, pulsing. Finally, he wrapped his arms loosely around her back and lay still.

"I'm crushing you," she whispered, but his arms tightened around her.

"No, you're light as thistledown," he objected, "don't get up."

"I have to. You can't stay here."

Bevil sighed. "I know. Just a little longer."

Kayla sighed, and shifted slightly to lie along side him. She reflected that she should not have encouraged him, but the need had seemed so pressing, at the time. She supposed she did love him, then rejected the thought. No, she thought, she cared for him. He meant more to her than anyone in West Harbor, but it wasn't love. Love was something else, something she couldn't quite define. Bevil Starling wasn't the center of her world. Something was missing, something important. She recalled the way Brother Merring's gaze followed Retta Starling, how he smiled when she spoke and laughed when she scolded him. That was what love looked like. It did not look like whatever she and Bevil were doing.

Then she thought about her other prospects in the village. It was a grim thought. Ward Mossfeld wasn't terrible, but she could never talk to him like she talked to Bevil. The other two Mossfelds were intollerable. Pitney Lannon was all right, too, as far as that went, and he was, after all, the most handsome young man in the village, but he seemed to show a preference for her friend Amie, and besides, Kayla just didn't find him that interesting. To be fair, she didn't find Bevil all that interesting, either, but at least he was familiar and she could be herself around him without reservation. And there was Lewy Jons' younger brother, but he was too revolting to think about, and said to be a cheat, besides. Orlen's cousin Davey was all right, she supposed, but he never stopped talking, and Lazlo's brother Marco was easy enough to look at, if you didn't mind the smell, and there were the twins, Bran and Hans, but she could never tell them apart, and Bors Redfell, though Kayla suspected that Bors preferred men... So, if it came to it, Bevil was the best West Harbor had to offer. She wondered how many West Harbor marriages happened simply because there wasn't anything better out there.

"What are you thinking?" Bevil's voice cut through her gloomy reflections.

"That West Harbor is not a very big village," Kayla said.

"If they talk, they talk," he replied, obviously misinterpreting the direction of her thoughts. Just as well, Kayla thought, wondering just how cruel she was, and just how foolish.

Kayla sighed. "I was also thinking that you'd better go. I don't know how late it is, but it was a candle past midnight when we got here."

Bevil reluctantly rose and got dressed. "Can I call on you tomorrow?"

Kayla consented, threw on a chemise, and shooed him out the door. He waved and walked away. Kayla watched him until he disappeared over the hump of the bridge, her thoughts troubled. 


	3. The Attack

Disclaimer: Obsidian owns most of these characters, and much of the conversation. OC and all.  
Note: Not thrilled with this chapter, not at all, but I've got to wrap up loose ends get Kayla out of the Mere. I'll be fastforwarding with the next one.

Brother Merring stood before Kayla. He wore his formal vestments, but his usually ruddy face was ashen and grave. Wordlessly, he held out his right hand to her, extending his left to someone just outside Kayla's vision. Instinctively, she placed her right hand in his, but flinched at the feel of her mentor's hand. It was cool and oddly dry, like he was wearing a chilled leather glove. He did not speak, but smiled reassurance. His eyes held joy, but also sadness. She watched as he closed waxen fingers over her hand, then shifted her gaze to his other outstretched hand. It held a man's hand, a large but strangely graceful hand with long, agile fingers and clean, neatly trimmed nails. It wasn't as pale as Kayla's, but the skin was fair, and lightly freckled. It looked pink against the gray of Brother Merring's hand.

He turned his face to her again, still silent, but his eyes asked a question. She felt his paternal love of her through the bond of their touch, but she also felt an overwhelming sense of rightness about the other hand he held, a longing to possess it, to cherish it. She nodded. He turned his pallid face to the unseen man to her right. She felt rather than heard the same question, as well as the answer, an overpowering surge of love and devotion.

Brother Merring nodded once, laid Kayla's hand in the other he held, then raised his arms in blessing, then vanished in the rising mist.

Kayla felt the mist rise around her, too, obscuring her sight, but the mist turned to rays of golden light that wrapped themselves around her in a warm, protective embrace. The purity of the love that surrounded her took her breath away. She could not say if she still held that wonderful stranger's hand. When she first touched it, it felt like a key sliding into a lock... no, more like missing piece fitting into her soul. But now, the hand was gone. It might have become part of the cocoon of light and warmth that enveloped her, a shining web that emanated from a man-shaped form in front of her. She felt strong, loving arms around her, drawing her toward the glowing being. She surrendered gladly, willing herself to become a part of it, welcoming the union of the contact. The light entered her, joined with her spirit, filled her with radiance and a magic she couldn't even begin to describe.

The embrace changed to a grapple. Icy hands closed on her arms, shaking her. Someone was calling her name.

"Kayla! Kayla!" It was Bevil's voice, distant and distorted, as if from a great depth.

"Kayla! Wake up! West Harbor is under attack!"

She opened her eyes. Bevil's face filled her vision. She recoiled from it, then went limp.

Kayla lay in her bed, with Bevil standing over her. He was shaking her, calling out to her. She could dimly make out Amie behind him, throwing open chests and drawers, tossing garments onto the table.

"Wake up!" Bevil repeated.

She pushed him off her and sat up. "What's going on?" she asked stupidly.

"Gray dwarves," Amie explained. "Hurry, they're coming this way."

Amie passed her a pair of leggings and a tunic while Bevil dug her chainmail shirt and mace out of the chest at the foot of her bed. Kayla didn't ask any more questions, but pulled on the garments Amie offered. If Amie noticed her lack of modesty around Bevil, she didn't say anything.

"No, Bevil, the gambeson first," Kayla said shortly, reaching for the padded jacket. After that was on, she ducked under the chain shirt Bevil was holding out for her, letting gravity do most of the work. She winced as the links caught at her braids, and took a moment to free a few coppery strands from the mesh.

"You really were asleep," Bevil observed while she tugged her boots on over her bare feet, not bothering with her socks.

"I was dreaming," Kayla explained. For one fleeting, irrational moment, she hated Bevil with acid intensity, but the moment was gone. He was blameless.

"Must have been some dream," Amie said drily, handing her the shield that had been hanging from a hook on the wall.

Kayla bit her lip. Better to get it out, she thought. It will be quicker that way.

"I might have seen Lathander," she said. "It's hard to explain."

"I bet," Bevil said, peering out the window. "Save it for later. I see them on the bridge."

Kayla grabbed her mace on the way out the door. This was no time for practice clubs or hurley sticks. She heard a crash downstairs. Not bothering to look for a lantern, she raced for the stairs.

Three gray dwarves had broken into the cottage. They were shorter than shield dwarves, with dingy ash-colored skin and lank pale hair and beards. All of them bore axes.

Bevil took out one of them with a lucky shot, then turned to help Kayla with hers. Its skull made a satisfying crunching noise under Kayla's mace, and it fell lifeless to the floor. The last druegar was almost level with Amie, but it turned to face Bevil and Kayla when they attacked it. That was the last mistake it ever made. Amie launched a magic missile in its back, killing it instantly.

Brother Merring was waiting for them outside the cottage, tending three victims of the night's violence. He raised his head as Kayla called out to him.

"There you are," he said, his voice thick with relief, "I saw some of those creatures enter your house, and I feared the worst. Georg is gathering the militia at the bridge - I would report there at once. More of these creatures are on the way, and in greater numbers."

"Do you want me to help with the wounded?" Kayla asked.

"No," he said firmly, "I'm just finishing up here, and then I'll follow. Go to Georg. He should be on the bridge."

"Brother Merring... " this was clearly not the best time, but she needed to tell him. "I think I saw Lathander in a dream. You were there, but I think..." she choked "I think you were dead."

As she explained it, something sounded wrong to her. What had been near certainty before now felt more like speculation. She had no doubt that the other figure in her dream was important to her, but there was something about her attitude toward the other presence that did not feel like her devotion toward her god. The perspectives were reversed. In her dream, she desired the other presence, wanted to possess it. She sensed its devotion to her as well as hers to him. Had she really beheld Lathander, she was certain that she would not have imagined that she could claim him, or that he would have returned her adoration. Besides, the hand she held was fair-skinned, not the ruddy gold usually associated with the Morning Lord.

Brother Merring smiled distracted reassurance. "I will die, Kayla, when my task on Toril is done. I do not fear death. I know that when I die, I will go home to Lathander, so do not be troubled over dream visions."

He paused, then continued, "As for seeing Lathander, I do not doubt you. He has never shown himself to me, except through the majesty of the sunrise, but perhaps you are favored. Cherish the memory, daughter, and go help Georg. I'll follow as soon as I can."

Kayla nodded once, then set out down the path at a jog. She tripped over a still form lying in the road. It groaned.

"Come... come to gloat, Kayla?" he wheezed, "Still... I took a bunch down before they got me..."

"Ward Mossfeld - can barely see you through all that blood," Kayla gasped. She sank to her knees beside the fallen boy.

"Damn creatures... coming out of nowhere... my brother... my brother, Wyl, you seen him?"

"Not yet," Kayla said truthfully, "He's somewhere in the village, I'm sure."

"I... if you can find him, Kayla... please, he's my brother... but my wounds..."

Kayla tore open the front of his tunic to see the worst of it for herself. Ward Mossfeld had taken an axe to the gut. He'd been partially eviscerated. She could hear Bevil being noisily sick behind her, but ignored him, laying one hand on either side of the injury.

"I can use my faith to heal you, Ward," she reassured him. "Stay still a moment."

She felt the familiar warmth as her power stirred in her. She'd tried to explain it to Amie once, how it felt like sunlight coursing through her blood and coming out through her hands, but she still marveled at the wonder of it. She watched as the wound closed, leaving only a moist pink line that would fade to nothing, if he lived through the night. She breathed a prayer of thanks to Lathander and took her hands off Ward Mossfeld.

He got to his feet, pale, but grateful. He stammered thanks, then took off at a run, back in the direction of the fighting.

"Are you all right?" Kayla asked Bevil. He was still pale, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand. She fought down momentary annoyance at his squeamishness. She'd never seen human innards before, either, and she wasn't vomiting in the bushes. But Bevil always had a sympathetic stomach, she remembered. When they were twelve, they'd witnessed the birth of some lambs. He'd been ill then, too, she recalled.

"Sorry about that," Bevil gasped. "I didn't think there'd be that much blood..."

Amie laughed. "You're in the militia now, Bevil Starling. You'd better get used to it."

They found Georg Redfell and Ward Mossfeld engaged with a pack of druegar on the bridge, along with a couple strange, demon-like creatures. It took Kayla a moment to close on them enough to bring her mace to bear, so she had a chance to get a good look at them. They stood taller than the druegar, almost man-height. Their skin was darker than the druegars', slate-colored, with a row of orange spikes down their spines. They were marginally tougher than the druegar, but they fell easily enough. "Bladelings," Georg Redfell grunted, by way of explanation.

Georg proved glad to see them indeed.

"Thank the gods you made it," he said, clapping Kayla on the shoulder, "there's been no sign of your father, and I feared you'd been killed as well. I have no idea where these creatures came from or what they want, but the ones loose in the village are only the first wave... more are coming. A lot more."

He mopped some of the sweat off his forehead. "If we're going to stop them, we need someone to rally the militia and meet them head-on."

"I'm on it," Kayla agreed.

"Good girl. The militia is likely disorganized and scattered about town - you may have met some on your way here. Gather a half-dozen men or so - that's the most we can hope for. Now go - when you've gathered everyone you can, meet me at the wheat field south and west of here."

They found Ian Harmon right away, cowering around the back of his house, hiding his face in his collar as if keeping his identity a secret would keep him alive. He was in no hurry to go to the wheat field.

Coward, Kayla thought dismissively. But she managed to keep her voice neutral, and set about persuading him. In the end, it was the promise that he would die here alone if he didn't go to the meeting spot that broke his resistance. She couldn't be sure, but she suspected that Bevil was making some pretty persuasive gestures of his own behind her back. Whatever the reason, Ian Harmon set off for the wheat field.

They spied Pitney Lannon through the trees, battling some bladelings with Web Mossfeld and Lauryl Potts, a militia woman. They cut over to them and helped them finish off their bladelings. Lauryl and Web took off for the wheat fields at once, but Pitney exchanged a timid smile with Amie first. Kayla was almost certain her friend blew the blond man a kiss. He waved his farewell and ran after Lauryl and Web.

"Pierson," Bevil said. "You know him, the miser. He's probably holed up in his house while West Harbor burns."

Kayla hated to say it, but Bevil was probably right. So they circled around the green, keeping in the shadows, until they reached Pierson's door. He yelled at them through the closed door. He wasn't about to abandon his home or his wealth, no matter how great the risk to West Harbor, not while a stout door stood between him and danger. They solved that one by the simple expedient of breaking down the door. Pierson cursed them bitterly, but he set out for the meeting place.

"Did we get everyone?" Amie asked.

"I haven't seen Wyl Mossfeld," Kayla bit her lip. "We should find him. We promised Ward."

And find him, they did, not far from Pierson's splintered door. He was beset by druegar and heavily wounded. He'd lost a lot of blood, and was barely standing. Once the druegar were dead, Kayla turned to Amie.

"I have to," she said. No matter what Amie held against Wyl Mossfeld, he didn't deserve to die because of it. Kayla was spared the agony of disappointing her friend by Amie's own hurried "Do it."

Once Kayla tended his injuries, Wyl ran off to rejoin the militia in the wheat field.

Kayla was just getting ready to follow him when she saw Amie take off northward at a run.

"Damn her! Bevil, let's go," Kayla barked, following her friend. This was no time for the girl to set off on her own. Amie had a few spells, but no combat training. It did't take them long to find out what drew Amie's attention.

Tarmas stood on the green facing them, a tall, emaciated figure between the three friends and himself. Tarmas saw them first.

"You three stay out of this!" he barked. "It's too dangerous!"

"Master!" Amie cried. "Just hold on! We can help!"

Amie cast her spell, a magic missile. It bounced harmlessly off the spere of energy surrounding the figure. He must have sensed movement, though, because he spun to face Amie. Kayla hesitated. The creature before her was terrifying. His skin was greenish, stretched taught over his skull-like face. He could be undead, Kayla thought, looking at his emaciated frame and dead-looking eyes, but if so, he was no undead of this world.

"So the whelp seeks to test herself," he sneered. "How pathetic."

Kayla watched Amie fall. She called on her powers, intending to heal her, as she had healed Ward and Wyl, but even before she touched her friend, she knew it was too late. Amie's body was nothing but an empty shell, her spirit gone. Lifeless eyes stared up at her.

She did not have long to grieve. Before he fled, that skeletal thing had conjured some spiders to cover his escape. They were huge, the size of ponies, but Tarmas, Bevil, and she were able to kill them without injury to themselves.

Tarmas went to Amie.

"Foolish girl!" he wailed. Kayla understood. Though Tarmas was an arrogant man, he really had cared for his apprentice. There was nothing more to be done here. Amie was gone. Nothing short of a Raise Dead spell would bring her back, and Kayla didn't think even Brother Merring had the power to cast it. And he would have refused, anyway, Kayla knew. He would have held her hand, and consoled her during her grief over her friend's death, but he would not have called her back from her god.

Right now, she didn't have time to grieve. Unless the militia could drive off the invaders, Amie would not be the only friend she would lose.

When they got to the wheat field, Pitney Lannon called over to them, asking for Amie. Kayla was spared the pain of telling him by the next wave of the attack. He had not survived it.

The attack had lasted all night. Kayla had wondered whether Lathander would understand if her dawn devotions were delayed. Probably, she hoped. Brother Merring certainly showed no signs of breaking off his activities to reverence the rising sun. The pair of them were working together, dragging the wounded off the field and tending them in a corral near the Starling house. But Kayla was seeing her share of combat. They had to get to the fallen, after all, and had to fight off whatever enemies were still nearby before they could bring the wounded to safety. Neither of them had any spells left, so the only thing they could do was bind the injuries of the wounded with swamp moss and pray. Kayla was still unwounded, but Brother Merring had taken a gash across his cheek that had nearly cost him his eye. It looked like Bevil was still unhurt.

But the attack did end, at last, just as the sun cleared the horizon. Kayla would long remember the sight of the rising sun outlining the forms of Daeghun and the rest of West Harbor's archers as they closed on the village. It had been enough to drive off the remaining attackers. They fled into the Mere.


	4. The Sunken Flagon

It was a quiet night at the Sunken Flagon. Heavy rains kept all but the most determined drinkers home, and those had mostly shuffled off to find a quiet place to sleep it off or were still staring morosely into their tankards. But the Flagon was Kayla's home, now, according to her uncle, Duncan Farlong, the proprietor.

Duncan had been a surprise to her. She had not expected him to be a half-elf. Daeghun had said that Duncan was his half-brother, so Kayla had assumed he would be an elf, like Daeghun. Not that it mattered, of course. Duncan was Duncan. He was certainly as different from his brother as it was possible to be. For one thing, he was actually eager to claim her as kin. Once she had assured the man that she was not a creditor out to settle a debt, she was his niece, and that was the end of that. Nor would he take so much as a copper for her room and board. He'd said it was the least he could do, partial repayment for having missed so much of her life already. By the time she'd gotten around to talking to him about her shard, she felt like she'd known him all her life.

But that was ancient history, like everything else. Five months and a thousand years ago, she, Bevil and Amie and won the Harvest Cup. Amie had not survived the night. Kayla still missed her, but it seemed so long ago, as if it were somebody else's memories.

After the attack, she and Bevil were sent into the Mere to retrieve the mysterious silver shard she still bore. Bevil had not wanted to go. That had been a blow. Bevil was no coward, she knew, not like Ian Harmon had been, anyway. But his reluctance had come at a bad time. While she had refused to marry him, she had lain with him. Maybe he would have been more eager to accompany her had she accepted the implied proposal, maybe he would not. By now, she couldn't even say that she knew him at all.

In the end, he had gone with her, and had faced lizardmen and beetles with stoic resolve, but that initial hesitation had been hard to accept. By that second morning after the attack, she thought less of him than she had before it, and that bothered her. Bevil was her friend. He was honorable, just. For him to show such... cowardice, such reluctance to face the dangers of the swamp for her felt like a betrayal.

"Bevil is made for simpler things," Daeghun had said. She had to believe him. As much as she cared for Bevil, he was what he was. If tales of paladins had not moved him, well, maybe she was wrong about his fitness to the calling.

Their farewells had been awkward. Daeghun had insisted she go on to Neverwinter alone. She'd never gone a day in her life without seeing Bevil, so the announcement had caused a moment of panic, but she welcomed the chance to think about things... about Bevil... alone.

She _had_ thought about him, all the way to the Weeping Willow Inn. There, she had other things to occupy her mind. Guiltily, she realized that she had not spared a thought for him since.

It had been difficult to say goodbye to Brother Merring. She said it like she feared she'd never see him again. She clung to him, refused to release him from her embrace. Her dream was still fresh in her mind, and she'd seen him in death, she was sure.

The wound on his cheek was healing imperfectly. He'd spent his spells in the defense of West Harbor, as had Kayla, and more natural healing had begun while they battled. By the time they'd rested enough to tend it, he'd no longer cared for a cure that could only be called cosmetic. She'd accepted his resignation to it. He was a voice in the darkness. If he bore a scar, Lathander would not hold it against him.

Brother Merring had humored her, she knew. Whatever fate awaited him, he was prepared to face it like a true servant of the Morning Lord. She could only be bolstered by his strength, but she could not let him go when she left West Harbor. She'd wept, and clung to him like a child. He'd comforted her. He'd said his fledgling was leaving her nest, and given her every blessing. She could ask for no more, but she knew things would never be as they were.

The girl torn between woman and child cried out with the loss. Even if she returned to West Harbor, she no longer had need of a father.

But her life moved on, even if she would have it stilled. She bid Brother Merring farewell, and Georg Redfell, too, and Bevil, and all the familiar faces of home. She set off for the Weeping Willow, and left her childhood behind forever.

At the Weeping Willow, she'd met Khelgar Ironfist, a dwarf who wanted to be a monk. When she'd asked him why, he'd told her that he'd gotten his backside kicked by one in a brawl, and wanted to learn how to do that himself. Kayla suspected he'd never have the discipline to see it through, but she'd been delighted when he'd offered to keep her company on the road. She sensed that she could trust him, that he'd always back her in a fight, but more importantly, he made her laugh.

Khelgar was good company, she had to admit. He drank more than she did. He swore more than she did. He was always far too eager to settle everything with his fists. But he did have a vast store of common sense, and Kayla respected him for that.

If Khelgar was her rock, Neeshka was her fire. Neeshka was always the one thinking up new ways for them to find mischief, but she offered her unconditional friendship, the kind she had with Amie, and Kayla treasured her for it. Neeshka was a tiefling, and had not known much friendship in her life. It incensed Kayla that people were so narrow-minded about tieflings. As if Neeshka had any control over her ancestry! As far as Kayla was concerned, horns and a tail were no more a mark of damnation than her own red hair, but try to get an angry mob to see that. Neeshka had been surprised at Kayla's acceptance, but both had been grateful for the friendship.

Kayla had met Neeshka outside Fort Locke. She'd defended the tiefling from a pack of bounty hunters. Khelgar had not wanted Neeshka to accompany them, but he relented. Kayla suspected the dwarf could no more refuse her than he could scrape his head on the Weeping Willow's rafters. It just wasn't in him.

She'd met the legendary Cormick at Fort Lock, as well. The Harborman had welcomed her as some long-lost cousin, embracing her roughly and thumping her on the back. She'd been glad of the welcome, and glad of his good opinion. As for Cormick himself, he was everything a Harborman should be. He was tall and barrel-chested, with arms like tree-trunks and a deep, hearty laugh. Kayla had taken to him instantly.

She had not taken to Elanee as readily. She did not know what to make of the wood elf. Elanee encouraged her friendship, as far as it went, but there was something that bothered her, some disquiet she couldn't name. Perhaps it was only that Kayla was a cleric and Elanee was a druid. She kept expecting the druid to react a certain way, and when she didn't, it surprised her. She could tell Neeshka anything at all without fear of offending the tiefling, but she had to be more reserved around Elanee. In some ways, it felt like she traveled with an elderly aunt, though Kayla had none.

There were so many things that Elanee disapproved of. She refused to eat meat, for one thing. At first, it had sickened her when the rest of the company did, though she'd gottten better. She no longer gagged when she smelled it cooking. Kayla would have been just as happy forgoing it entirely, for Elanee's comfort, but Khelgar wouldn't hear of it. In that, he had been firm. So they had reached a compromise, of sorts. Common dishes like stews and porridge would be meatless, but three days out of four, the meal would be supplemented by small quantities of meat, poultry, or fish. On the fourth day, they would adhere to Elanee's vegetarian diet, though Khelgar complained.

Elanee objected to drinking, too, she soon found out. She scolded Khelgar mercilessly, that first morning in Highcliff, when he'd come down to the common room with a head sore from drink. She was lightening up there, as well, Kayla noticed. The day had been too rainy to go out, so they had spent it mending their worn gear. Elanee had asked for a taste of her ale. She had wrinkled her nose at it, but she no longer looked at Kayla reproachfully every time she raised her glass to her lips.

Perhaps Elanee was just reserved. They had time. It did not look like they would be allowed unrestricted access to Blacklake, or the sage who could tell them about Kayla's shards, any time soon.

That was frustrating. She had come all this way simply to find out about her shards, and that information was withheld. Duncan had given her his, and together, Sand had been able to determine that the shards contained power. That was an understatement. The power of them had knocked the three of them to the floor. Sand had recommended a Blacklake sage named Aldanon, who made a study of such things, but with Blacklake closed off, they were no more informed than they had been before.

Sand had been a puzzle. He seemed to enjoy a friendly kind of animosity toward Duncan, calling him a one-tankard drunk and complaining about his smell, but her uncle had given it right back, and cheerfully, calling him a worthless charlatan. In other words, they were probably the best of friends. And Sand gave her fair prices for anything she wanted to buy, sell, or barter, a rarity in Neverwinter.

But Blacklake was closed to her. There had been a murder, Sand had said, a lord killed. He suggested two ways of getting into the district. She might join the Watch, and get into Blacklake through lawful means, or she might ally herself with the Shadow Thieves, and gain access that way. Neeshka encouraged her to go the Shadow Thieves route, but Kayla couldn't bring herself to do it. Cormick was in the Watch, she knew, and she wasn't about to betray his friendship. Besides, while she had no objection to Neeshka's pickpocketing, Sand had hinted that her service to the thieves' guild might include things that she could not condone. Her announcement that she would join the watch pleased Duncan. And it pleased her, as well. In Cormick, she'd have one friend in Neverwinter, besides Duncan and the ones she brought with her.

So she'd gone to join the Watch. Her first duties had been almost painfully boring. She'd protected a merchant named Hagen from extortionists, she'd done her best to ferret out whatever Watchmen were on the take. Oh, and she'd confiscated a weapons shipment intended for the theives' guild. It had been routine.

Then the Watch burned down.

That had given her a few moments panic, until she learned that Cormick had escaped. She mourned the loss of Lieutenant Roe, but was not allowed much time for sentiment. She had been ordered to report to Captain Brelaina in the Merchant Quarter.

Brelaina had disapproved of her thoroughness in dealing with the criminal activities of the Watch itself. She had criticized her for drawing unnecessary attention from Moira's theives. She had all but blamed her for setting the fire that killed Lieutenant Roe herself. The level of corruption tolerated by Captain Brelaina sickened her. Cormick shared her opinion. They were both told to keep their heads down and not cause any more trouble. But Brelaina had promoted her. She now held the rank of lieutenant herself.

More routine tasks ensued.

Then, she met Moira herself. She'd gone to escort Fihelis, a Watch informant, to HQ for protection. His identity had been revealed, and he was in danger. Moira had Fihelis trapped in a back room, and was about to execute him, when Kayla broke through to them. Moira had been tough to kill. She'd hit Neeska hard, knocking her unconscious in one blow. She and Khelgar had been able to kill her, but it had not been easy.

_Thank Lathander for divine healing,_ she thought. _That slash to the face would have left an ugly scar._

Not that Khelgar cared. He'd taken plenty of injuries himself, but he always stopped her before she healed them completely.

"What's the use of fighting," he'd said, "if you haven't got the scars to prove it?"

She'd just laughed and patched him up anyway. He might want scars, but she didn't want him slowed down by a lot of half-healed injuries.

Brelaina had been pleased. She praised her for the rescue and awarded her a handsome purse. She'd have soon refused the coin, but Neeshka was already annoyed with her for declining to accept money for their efforts. She'd let the tiefling loose in in the warehouse, though, letting her have her fun, for once. If a few trinkets went missing, so be it. Neeshka had found a knife for herself, and a massive greatsword "for her." What she was going to do with a greatsword, she did not know, but she held on to it. Sand had identified it as the Shining Light of Lathander. With a name like that, she couldn't sell it. Sooner or later, someone would be able to make use of it.

Kayla used maces, for the most part, though she'd pick up a crossbow or morning star on occasion. Khelgar was an axe and hammer man himself, often using both at the same time. How he managed that, she didn't know, but he seemed to enjoy himself. Neeshka used her shortbow, mostly, though when it came time for knife-work, she could keep herself alive, and she liked rapiers well enough. Elanee had a sickle, but mostly, she just summoned animals to fight for her, or polymorphed into one herself. It wasn't glamorous, but it got the job done.

Brelaina had another assignment for them, delivered earlier that evening by a very soggy watch private. An emissary from Waterdeep had gone missing near Old Owl Well. Kayla was to go there, find him, and escort him to Neverwinter. Finally, a chance to get out of the city!

Elanee had been delighted. Her spirits always drooped when forced to spend too long indoors, away from the birds, beasts, and trees she loved. The news that they would be leaving Neverwinter raised her spirits to the point where she'd accepted a celebratory glass of mead from Duncan. That, she'd enjoyed, though her second gave her the giggles first, and a headache later. She'd retired early, nursing a sore head.

Though they planned to leave after her devotions, Kayla just couldn't will herself to sleep. She'd tried, but it just wouldn't come. This wasn't unusual. As Brother Merring had observed five months ago, not all Lathandrites readily adapt to rising before the sun. Some days, Kayla simply stayed up for it and slept afterward.

Tonight, they wouldn't have that luxury, of course. Whatever sleep Kayla missed would be visited upon her the next day, when her spells weren't ready and her wit was slow, but there was little she could do about it. Her body craved sleep. Her eyes burned. But it just wouldn't come.

Duncan had retired, leaving his henchman Sal to preside over the common room. Elanee had gone to bed with a headache. Even Neeshka had given her an apologetic peck on the forehead and retreated to her room. Khelgar was still there, in body anyway, though he'd fallen asleep on his thick forearms an hour or two ago. His snores punctuated her musings.

The only one awake in the room was the ranger, Bishop. He'd been there since the first time she'd walked through Duncan's door, it seemed, though she knew it couldn't be true. He had no home to speak of, Duncan had said. He'd also warned her that the ranger was nothing but trouble, and she'd do well to stay clear of him.

She had intended to follow her uncle's advice, but within her first week at the Flagon, curiosity had overcome her judgment.

"If I wanted a wench, I'd pay for one," he'd drawled.

"Say hi to your mother while you're there," Kayla had retorted.

It had gone downhill from there. They'd traded a few more insults, and that had been the end of it. Kayla resolved not to speak to him again.

The man was dangerous. His easy grace, his silent arrogance, the lazy way he moved, without ever seeming to do so, everything hinted that the ranger was not a man to be crossed. And now, he was looking at her.

She regarded him, in turn. He was handsome, to be sure. He had what Georg Redfell would call a proper Harborman build. He wasn't unusually tall, but he was broad, muscular. He was no less graceful than a stag, and no less majestic. Kayla couldn't help but stare.

The ranger swaggered over to her table.

"Well?" he asked expectantly.

Now she was staring in disbelief. Did the man really have the arrogance to just stroll up to her table and expect her to fall all over him? Yes, she reflected, he probably did.

"Aren't you going to buy me a drink?"

_So that's his game,_ Kayla thought. _His own coin's run out, so he'll deign to be civil. At least it's a game for two._

"You're welcome to a seat," she said, "but the ale costs."

He rolled his eyes, but signaled to Sal. He dragged a chair out from under the table and turned it around, straddling its back.

_Why is it that men always seem to advertise their interest by airing out their balls?_ she wondered.

"So, Princess," he began. "What brings Her Highness to this hole of a throne room at this hour?"

"Are you really that bored?" Kayla asked.

"Yeah," he admitted. "So what say you we duck off to your room and liven things up."

Sal was at her elbow with fresh tankards. He scowled at Bishop.

"This here's Duncan's niece," Sal growled, "so don't you be taking no liberties with her."

"You wound me," he protested. "I'd never force a woman, Sal. I've no need. Why, by the time I've got my shirt off, they're screaming for more."

Now it was Kayla's turn to roll her eyes, though she had to admit, to herself, anyway, that she'd already taken his shirt off in her mind, and a good deal more besides. If he looked as good in the flesh as he did in her imagination, she might have been tempted. But it was late, and they did have to leave early, and his bragging had quelled any desire she might have felt.

"Thanks for the ale, Sal," she yawned, "but you'll have to drink it yourself. I'm off for bed."

"What did I tell you?" Bishop leered. "And I didn't even have to take off my shirt."

"Alone," Kayla insisted, and headed for the stairs.


	5. Old Owl Well

Disclaimer: Obsidian owns all characters but Kayla, and most of the dialogue, for this chapter, though I've taken slight liberties here and there.

It took five days to get to Old Owl Well. Cormick had warned them of the scarcity of water in that region, so they went on foot, with only a pack-mule to carry their provisions. It had been a hot, dry, dusty trip.

En route, they had acquired a new companion, a gnome by the name of Grobnar Gnomehands. He claimed to be a bard. Kayla remained unconvinced. He'd bored them for hours with tales of his inventions, all of which sounded hideously dangerous. Kayla had fallen asleep. Yet when she woke, she agreed to allow him to travel with them. His poems might be trite and his fascination with gadgets potentially lethal, but he was amusing. Qara's complaining had driven her nearly to distraction, so she was not likely to turn down any opportunity for a laugh... or, in Grobnar's case, a groan.

Qara. Kayla had not wanted to bring the sorceress. So far, she'd been nothing but trouble. She had nearly burned down the Flagon with her antics, and when she wasn't traveling with Kayla, she was working for Duncan, wiping tables and delivering drinks, until her debt was repaid. Kayla could not wait. Qara had many enemies, and they'd already been forced to save her from them twice, or three times, if you counted the stand-off Kayla had interrupted when they met.

Kayla had nothing against defending her companions against old enemies, in principle. She'd already saved Neeshka from two packs of bounty-hunters, and had not minded that one bit. But defending a friend and confidante against paid killers was one thing. Defending a spoiled brat against the entire Academy was something else entirely.

But Qara was with them now, and Grobnar... and Elanee, Khelgar and Neeshka, of course. And they were all tired.

They came upon Old Owl Well a couple hours before sundown. Kayla had expected a village, with a few Greycloaks wandering about. She had not expected an armed camp behind a stout palisade. But she had been allowed entry, and was shown to the commander, a dwarf named Callum.

"I want those walls up by evening," he barked, "no excuses. The orcs aren't going to stop attacking just because we need to catch our breath.

"But, sir," the sergeant addressing him protested, "the men are having a hard time finding the materials we need..."

"You're telling me they can't find any _stones_? We're in the middle of the blasted mountains!"

Kayla had to fight hard to suppress a laugh at that one.

"Unless _you'd_ like to report to Nasher that we're overrun because we couldn't find rocks," Callum continued, "I suggest you drive some sense into your men and get that wall built."

The sergeant stomped off, muttering darkly. Callum turned to her.

"I tell you, I've lost years off my life trying to get this rabble fit for service..." he shook his head. His eyes narrowed. "And who are you supposed to be? Reinforcements?"

She introduced herself, and discovered that the Waterdhavian emissary, Issani, Callum called him, had not arrived, though he had been expected a tenday before. Callum also told her the man had not known he'd be walking into a battlefield. Until Callum's scout returned, Kayla and her party were to assist in the fort's defenses. She could do that.

She was not obliged to wait long to prove it. The first wave hit almost as soon as Callum finished speaking.

They'd done well. None of Kayla's party were injured, though Callum had taken a hard shot to the shoulder that had taken one of Kayla's healing spells to mend.

"Another orc raiding party," Callum grumbled while Kayla tended him. "We're lucky they haven't attacked in full force."

He let his head rest against the back of the camp chair, weary.

"Just wish I could make contact with whoever it is that's been distracting the orcs," he said, closing his eyes and letting Kayla's spell do its work.

"Someone else is attacking the orcs?" Kayla asked, surprised.

"Yes," he answered. "Someone's out there attacking orc patrols, and it's giving us a chance to build up our defenses."

He shook his head and stood up.

"So, they're on your side," Kayla said, rather stupidly, she thought.

Callum was skeptical.

"I've been at this long enough to know that you need to control a battlefield - and this new ally of ours is something I can't control."

"You can't make contact with them?" Kayla asked.

"Not them," Callum said, "him. And he's not one for talking. Every time I send someone out to contact him, he and his men move their camp."

The dwarf flexed his shoulder, testing its range of motion. He nodded thanks.

"The orcs have a name for him," he said, "Katalmach. They say he attacks without warning - and without regard for his enemy's numbers."

Kayla saw Khelgar's eyes widen.

"That's not a name orcs give lightly," he said. "It's a name they give to warriors who lose themselves in battle."

"It is odd that even orc trackers couldn't find him," Elanee observed. "Or that he would risk stirring up so many tribes in this region."

"Maybe this 'kettle-head' person simply lacks basic math skills," Grobnar chimed in excitedly. "You see, if _we_ were to face three hundred orcs, the odds... well, if you carry the two... might be..."

Callum snorted.

"Sounds like someone who wants to die to me," he said. "If we weren't here, it'd only be a matter of time before all the tribes in the Well hunted down this... Katalmach... and then his crusade would be over."

The commander shook his head again.

"Well, enough about him," he said. "I've enough trouble keeping my men in fighting shape."

The conversation was cut short by Callum's returning scout. Kayla didn't hear the scout's report. She was still thinking about Katalmach. Risk taking, reckless disregard for personal safety, battle frenzy... she knew of it. It had a name. Suicide.

Martyrdom was different, she knew. Those who embraced it did so reluctantly, out of devotion to a greater good. They went willingly, she knew, but they did not want to die. Had there been any other way to accomplish the will of their gods, Kayla knew they would have chosen that instead.

Suicide... the word chilled her. To seek death for its own sake... To defy the will of the gods... How much pain must a man feel to even contemplate such an end?

Guiltily, she realized that she should have been paying attention to the scout. That was why she was here in the first place. But it was too late, the scout was gone. Fortunately, Callum's next words were enough to convey the gist of it.

"Escort party, killed to the last man, sounds like Yaisog Bonegnasher's work," he said. "But no sign of Issani, so he may still live. I suggest you start looking in Bonegnasher's lair, northeast of here."

"Bonegnashers?" Khelgar scratched his chin. "They're still around? They're hard to kill."

"Sounds like a well-mannered fellow," Neeshka rolled her eyes, "judging from the name."

"My, Bonegnasher _is_ an interesting name," Grobnar squeaked. "I wonder what he would have done to earn it?"

Kayla rolled her eyes.

"His tribe isn't the biggest," Callum went on, ignoring her companions, "but he's older and more cunning than most. At the least, he may have an idea who attacked the emissary's guards."

"Any idea who might have done it, if it wasn't Bonegnasher?" Kayla asked.

"The Eyegouger tribe is the strongest," Callum answered, "led by Logram Eyegouger. He keeps the other tribes in line, including the Bonegnashers - and he's the one leading the attacks."

"All the orcs in the Well fall under his banner," the dwarf continued. "If we could get lucky and put an arrow through his skull..."

_Yes, commander,_ Kayla thought. _We'd hit two bottles with one bolt. We'd probably find Issani, and you'd get to go home to Neverwinter._ The dwarf wore a tunic that identified him as one of the Neverwinter Nine. For him to be leading such a campaign as this in the first place suggested the strategic importance of it. The Nine rarely left the city for any reason. They were Lord Nasher's personal bodyguard.

"If we could," Callum said, "the orcs would turn on each other in a heartbeat. And give us enough time to strengthen our position here."

"We could help you out," Kayla volunteered. "We could try to defeat Eyegouger ourselves."

"Trust me," Callum said, "if I knew where Logram could be found, I'd hit him myself. Killing him would be the break we've been looking for. But from what I've heard, there's been reports that this unknown ally of ours... this Katalmach... is hitting Logram hard. Which means he must know where Logram can be found. But since I can't find this unknown ally of ours, Logram's out of our reach as well."

He let out his breath in an exasperated sigh.

"For right now," he continued, "focus on Yaisog Bonegnasher, see what you can do to find the emissary. Besides, if you crossed Logram, that might be more than you can handle."

"Yaisog is old enough to know when to try something other than fighting," Callum suggested. "Corner him, and you might be able to get him to talk."

"I'd sooner put an axe in an orc," Khelgar grunted, "but he's right, the Bonegnashers, as cowardly and weak as they are, have been known to make deals."

"Go find Willem," Callum instructed. "He direct you to the Bonegnasher lair. You'd better act quickly. If the orcs have the emissary, whatever they have planned for him cannot be good."

The dwarf turned to leave.

"Commander Callum," Kayla called, "one more thing... sorry. We need to resupply."

"If you need anything, we've got Simmy here in camp to help you," Callum answered. "She normally trades in trinkets for the men, but carries some items more suited for combat as well. There are trolls in those hills, lieutenant, so you'll need fire or acid to kill them. If you haven't got anything that can do the job, you'd better remedy that before you set out. You can help yourself to the camp provisions. They aren't much, but they're probably no worse than what you had on the way here. Take as much water as you can carry, because there's little enough of it out in those hills."

He turned to go again, then turned back to her.

"And drink no standing water, if you find any," Callum advised. "It's all right to wash, if you must, but there's something in the rocks that will sicken you if you drink it. If it rains, put out your kettles, but don't drink the runoff."

"Thank you for the advice," Kayla said.

The dwarf went off to see that his orders regarding the wall were carried out. Kayla looked for Simmy. The gnomish merchant had a nice selection. Her prices were punishing, but here in the mountains, Kayla had few options. She bought a sling and a case of acid bullets for herself, a flaming scimitar for Elanee, and a flaming axe for Khelgar... and a sword that did acid damage for Grobnar. That made Kayla smile. It was a longsword. A human could wield it one-handed with perfect ease, but the gnome was obliged to use both. He looked like a child barbarian.

The food in camp wasn't bad, she had to admit. They had no fresh vegetables, of course. It was too early in the year for root vegetables, and there had been no time to gather greens, if they even grew in this arid place. Still, they did have fresh bread and sweet butter, bacon, stew, and pickled fruit and vegetables, and Kayla and company enjoyed their first decent meal since leaving Neverwinter.

_How hungry must one be to think of Sal's cooking as decent?_ Kayla wondered irreverently. Sal was an amiable fellow, and quick enough to get your drinks, but he was no cook. Still, she hadn't tasted fresh bread in days, or butter, either. Kayla could have made a meal of that alone. She was losing weight. She'd never been a big girl. Like all clerics of the Morning Lord, she was athletic and fit, but hers was a leaner kind of strength. And now, if she had her helmet on, there was no way to tell she was even female. She wore a man's breastplate in perfect comfort. That annoyed her, but there was nothing she could do about it.

_Ah, well,_ she thought. _There's no one to impress out here, anyway. I could have boobs like Seline Lannon, and it wouldn't help me get Issani back._

"Whatcha thinking?" Neeshka asked. She'd fallen silent while they sat around the campfire.

"That it's a good thing we don't have to charm our way into this," she answered.

"Don't know about that," Khelgar disagreed. "You did all right back with those lizardmen north of Highcliff."

"Those lizardmen were more interested in being left alone than they were in a nice rack, Khelgar," Kayla retorted, giggling when he spat his ale back into his tankard.

"Warn a dwarf, if you're going to go saying things like that," he said reproachfully.

"Fortunately," Kayla went on, "the orcs won't care much, either."

"I don't know about _that_," Qara cut in. "You _have_ heard of half-orcs, haven't you?"

Kayla shuddered at that thought.

"That's why we brought you, Qara," Neeshka purred. "You're always showing off, and saying you like your men big and rough."

"That's enough," Kayla interjected, wishing she'd' kept her mouth closed. Left to their own devices, those two would invariably get into a cat-fight. And then Khelgar would join in, taking Neeshka's side, and Qara would go off in a snit because "everybody was ganging up on her." Kayla didn't need that tonight.

The dynamic between Khelgar and Neeshka amused her. They teased each other mercilessly, but if anybody else tried it, one would be first to the other's defense. It reminded her of Bevil. He'd picked a fight with Wyl Mossfeld himself once, for dipping one of Kayla's braids in the ink, and gotten a good thrashing in the process, but he'd been loyal to her.

_Except for the once,_ she reminded herself. _He wouldn't face the lizardmen... Ilmater's mercy, will I never let that go? I hadn't wanted to go myself. I can hardly blame Bevil. Still, it's nice to see that Khelgar and Neeshka are getting to be such good friends. I can live with the bickering._

"We've got to leave at first light," she said. "So we'd better pack up."

After a tough fight and a lot of healing spells, they had won through to Issani. Callum had been right. The orc chieftain had been willing to surrender Issani to her, in exchange for his life. She had not wanted to let Yaisog Bonegnasher go, but she couldn't kill him in cold blood.

But Issani had flatly refused her escort. He would make his way to Neverwinter alone, he insisted. He had been unimpressed with his escort, and insisted that he'd be better off on his own, where he might be able to evade raiding parties like the one that had captured him in the first place. He'd make his way to Old Owl Well first, to resupply, then set out at once.

With nothing else to do, Kayla set off back to Old Owl Well herself. The journey had depleted her own supplies, and she'd been obliged to share with Issani. In any case, they'd never make it back to Neverwinter without water. The promised rain had not come.


	6. Katalmach

The orcs sprang out of the very rocks, it seemed to Kayla. They'd taken her by surprise, and they just kept on coming.

She'd done well so far, but they were taking a beating. She'd seen Neeshka fall. The tiefling had been covering them with her bow, before she, too was overwhelmed. She still lived, Kayla saw. She had her knife out, and was slashing at the arms and faces of her attackers. Kayla was fighting her way to her friend when she heard Khelgar's shout.

"Hey!" he bellowed. "Those are our orcs!"

Khelgar was cut off from her, at the other end of the ravine, separated by orcs and... where had all these humans come from? Never mind that, they were on her side. She ran toward Neeshka, but Neeshka's orcs were on her now, ignoring the downed thief in the face of a new threat. She killed one of them immediately, but the other was too close. He raised his axe. The dying orc had hooked her shield as he fell, leaving her exposed. The axe was over her head. She was going to die.

A hammer arced by her ear, flattening the skull of the orc she'd been fighting. She sprang free of the falling orc and ran to Neeshka. The tiefling had taken a bad belly wound. Without the strangers' intervention, she'd be dead, and Kayla, too.

Neeshka opened her eyes as the spell ended. Kayla grinned in relief. She'd been in time. Neeshka was going to be all right.

A long shadow fell across them.

"He's a paladin," Neeshka hissed. "Their auras always make my skin itch."

* * *

"Damn!" the paladin's hissed oath carried no further than his sergeant. "The fool elf's going into the Alley. Muster the men, Katriona, we're going in."

"Aye, sir," the woman acknowledged before disappearing to do his bidding.

He'd been hunting orc for days. Some of Eyegougers boys were holed up here, he knew. The elf and his band would never make it through, not on foot.

They called the ravine Ambush Alley for a reason. The walls were steep, with a broad valley floor. It had once been a riverbed, perhaps, though now it was dry and barren, like everything else on this gods-forsaken mountain. If the gully floor offered no shelter, the slopes leading down to it offered concealment in abundance. Callum had lost many scouts here, the paladin knew, as had he, but it was the only pass down to Old Owl Well from Bonegnasher's hillock.

He'd seen the group on their way up the ravine. One human girl, a mage, by the look of her, a dwarf, a gnome, and two elves, one male, one female, and one other, a thrice-damned tiefling, to judge by her tail. She looked to be an archer. The dwarf was a warrior of some kind, he could see that. The gnome might have been a bard. He had a lute, anyway. The female elf appeared to be a druid or a ranger, perhaps. The male elf, the leader, apparently, looked to be another warrior, though it was unusual for elven warriors to carry maces. They favored swords. He had paid little heed to their movements. Callum did send search parties into the hills, at times.

_To find me, _he reflected guiltily.

But once the group was clear of the Alley, he had kept his own patrol well clear of them. The lands between the end of the ravine and the Bonegnasher lair were safe enough, and he had little wish to encounter Callum's interrogation party.

Now, he had no choice. He would not let another search party be slaughtered for the sake of his little secret. If they lived to tell Callum of him, so be it. At least they would live. He couldn't see the faces of the two fighters through their helmets, but the rest looked young... far too young to die for something stupid.

He wished he'd brought more men. It was just him, Katriona, and a dozen others, but he had faith. They would be enough... if they could reach them in time.

They had reached the Alley. They did not follow the road in, but left their horses and approached the gully from the top, taking out whatever archers and slingers they could on the way down. By the time they got to the bottom, there were less than a score of orcs in the ravine.

The dwarf was holding his ground, laying about himself with axe and hammer and crushing everything in his path. The paladin left him to it. The elven woman, a druid, he now knew, had summoned bears and badgers, had polymorphed into a bear herself, and was ably defending the sorceress and the bard. He ordered his men to stay clear of them. The sorceress was throwing spells with utter disregard for friend or foe, and he had no wish to lose one of his own men to a misdirected fireball.

The elven male was fighting his way to the opposite end of the gully, toward the fallen archer. He was acquitting himself well, and moved with the liquid grace of his kind, but he was outnumbered, and the tiefling was down. He'd get no help from that quarter. The paladin ran to his aid.

He'd barely managed to get his hammer down on the head of the orc that would have killed the elf, then engage another who had come up behind. When that foe, too had fallen to his weapon, he looked back to his own troops. They had been victorious. Even now, they were moving to him. He turned back to the elf and the tiefling.

The elf was bent over the archer. He'd removed his gauntlets. The paladin stared. The hands were pale, too pale for even a moon elf, and far too small for an elf of any kind. Was this a child?

He did not hear the incantation, but he saw the healing energy flow from those slender hands into the fallen tiefling, and watched the wound close under them. Not a warrior, then, but a cleric.

He pulled off his own helmet and stepped closer.

"He's a paladin," he heard the tiefling say. "Their auras always make my skin itch."

The cleric was turning to him, removing his own helmet...

Not an elf. A human woman, though barely more than a child. Her features were delicate. She had reddish hair and honey-brown eyes. And she was staring at him.

* * *

"He saved your life, Neesh," Kayla muttered, then yanked off her helmet and turned to face her savior. She stared.

He was tall, easily as tall as Cormick, though far leaner. His hair might have been dark, though it was too dusty to say. Most of his face was covered with a tenday's growth of beard and ash-colored grime, but pale blue eyes regarded her steadily. His features were regular and manly, she could see, but it was his very _presence_ that held her motionless.

_Katalmach._ It could be no other. These mountains could not hold two such men. He was a paladin. There was no mistaking that. She did not need to be a tiefling to feel the righteous energy flowing off him. This was the man that wanted to die. And he had saved her.

She got to her feet.

"The Sword Mountains are a dangerous place," he said. His voice was deep, stately. "More now than ever, with the orc tribes gathered behind Logram's banner."

"We were doing just fine before you showed up," Kayla heard Khelgar grumble.

"So I noticed," the paladin replied. Was that humor in his voice? "I thank you then for allowing us to take part in the battle."

"Thank you for your assistance," Kayla found her voice.

"I am Casavir," he said, "and my men and I have been hunting this group of orcs for days."

"You're the one that's been harassing the orcs?" Kayla asked, though she already knew the answer.

"We've been hunting the orcs here for many months," Casavir said. "Recently, we have stepped up attacks, however. When Neverwinter finally moved to retake Old Owl Well, we redoubled our efforts - with the orcs being attacked from two fronts, it prevents them from massing to retake the Well."

He looked toward the sun lowering toward the horizon, then back to her.

"I'm curious," he said. "Why have you ventured into the mountains? Surely you understood the risk in coming here."

"We were sent to escort a Waterdhavian emissary to Neverwinter," she answered. "He insisted on going on alone, though he planned to resupply at Old Owl Well before journeying on. We'd hoped to meet him there, and provide escort for the last leg of his trip."

"Then you hope in vain," Casavir said grimly. "No man has passed through this ravine, and it is the only way to the encampment."

Kayla sighed. She felt the fool. She did not know whether Issani had fallen victim to another ambush or whether she herself had been misled, but either way, she had failed in her charge.

"You saw no one?" she asked, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice.

"We saw a man meet a band of orcs east of here, and journey on with them," Casavir replied. "But if this was your Issani, he was no Waterdhavian emmisary. They set out northward, not southwest, and he was no prisoner. Are you certain of the identity of the man you found?"

"No," Kayla admitted, the color rising in her cheeks. "I... I thought his story odd, and he had no guard, even in the Bonegnasher lair. I've been duped."

"Do you think it likely Issani yet lives?" Casavir asked.

"It is possible," Kayla admitted. "If that was not Issani in the Bonegnasher lair, he ceratinly wished us to believe it was him, and he had enough of Issani's story to convince us that he was. He would have to have gotten the information somewhere. But he was the only human in Bonegnasher's lair."

Casavir paused, then appeared to have reached a decision.

"If he was not at Bonegnasher's, then he must be at Eyegouger's," he said. "If you intend to enter the stronghold of Logram, it is to the north. I can lead the way."

"I appreciate your help," Kayla replied. She did not know who this _Katalmach_ was, but she was certain that she would be better off with his help than without it.

"And you shall have it," Cassavir agreed readily. "Logram's death will be a serious blow to the orcs."

"We have lost some men," a woman standing near Casavir said, "but I will assemble who I can and join you on the assault."

"No, Katriona," the paladin disagreed, "we have already lost too many, and a massed attack on Logram will only cost us more - I will be going on alone."

"Casavir... sir..." the woman's voice broke, "we kept you from this once. I think it's best if..."

Whomever this woman was, she was clearly upset that the paladin was leaving her behind. Was she his lover? She was young, a couple years older than herself, perhaps, with reddish gold hair and a very pretty face, though she was as dirty as the rest of them.

_And an active life hasn't robbed her of her curves,_ Kayla observed with some bitterness.

Perhaps she was his woman. Thrown together in a fighting unit, with the camaraderie of a common goal to unite them, it was not unusual for relationships to develop. She certainly looked to the paladin with a softness in her eyes. No, she had called him "sir." No lover would do that. A subordinate, then, but clearly, one who admired her commander.

"Please," Casavir's voice, too, was laden with emotion, but it was the kind that reminded Kayla that Casavir, at least, considered himself a doomed man. His voice was firm, like the sealing of a tomb. "It is important that you do as I ask. Take the survivors, and fall back to the Greycloaks camp. Do what you can to help them and keep the pressure on the orcs."

Katriona looked to her commander in mute appeal. Casavir sighed, then continued.

"If we cannot defeat Logram," he said resolutely, "then he will come after them in full force, and the Greycloaks _must_ be warned."

"So after all this time avoiding the Neverwinter forces," Katriona said incredulously, "now you want me to stride right into their camp?"

Casavir gave her a resolute nod. Katriona sighed, but her determination was evident. She, at least, had not given up.

"Look... Casavir..." she pleaded, "let me go with you. There is no need to keep doing this alone - let us help you."

Katriona turned to Kayla in appeal. _Please,_ she mouthed silently.

Kayla's heart went out to the woman. She was clearly infatuated with him, and she could understand that. His presence was magnetic. She felt drawn to him herself, and she didn't even know him. As for the man himself, either he did not return his sergeant's affection or he was ignorant of it, though the latter was improbable.

_Very well,_ she decided. _One try, and if that doesn't work, so be it. But appeal to his logic._

"We could use more men," she said to the paladin, catching Katriona's look of gratitude.

Casavir would not be moved.

"A smaller group will move quicker and attract less attention," he said firmly. "The trail to Logram's lair is narrow - more swords will not aid us there."

"I've _seen_ that trail," there was anger in the sergeant's voice. "If you go up there, you will be nothing more than easy targets. Gods know what guards or defenses they have... you'll be killed."

"You have your orders, Katriona," Casavir's voice was flat, emotionless. "We'll meet you back at the Greycloaks camp after we have dealt with Logram."

Katriona's determination broke.

"Very well. Good luck, sir."

The paladin turned to Kayla, now.

"Are you ready to take on Logram and his clan?" he asked. "I can guide you to the path to his lair."

"Yes," she replied. "I would like to set out as soon as possible. Do you need to return to your camp to collect your gear?"

"No," he said. "I need little, and that is here. I left my horse at the top of the gully."

Kayla sighed. A horse. A huge, sweaty horse, that would drink more water than all of them put together.

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience, Casavir," she said. "But we go on foot."

"Yes," he agreed. "I will retrieve my gear. My men can lead him to the Greycloaks."

He started to climb the slope, following his former companions.

"What do you think, Khelgar?" she asked her own second in command.

"He'd be a good one to have in a fight," Khelgar admitted reluctantly. "A little high on his horse, though, from the looks of it."

"He saved my life," Kayla reminded him.

"Are you sure you want him traveling with us?" Neeshka asked. "Holy warriors only lead to trouble. Plus, his aura makes my skin itch."

"And yours," Kayla rolled her eyes. Her instincts told her that they would need his help to defeat Logram... and there was something more. She couldn't explain it. Maybe it was the holiness of his calling, or the quiet confidence he exuded, but she did not want to send him away. His aura bolstered her spirits. When he moved away from them, she _felt_ him leave, and had not enjoyed the sensation. It was like walking from sunlight into shadow, and realizing that the day was a lot colder than she thought it was. No, she'd override her companions' objections, if she had to, but Casavir was coming with them.

"We could use his help," Elanee reflected. "There's greater beasts than orcs in these mountains, and we may need every blade we can get if we cross paths with them."

"Qara? Grobnar?" Kayla asked. With Elanee on her side, and Khelgar more in favor than against, maybe a vote would prevent her from having to exercise her veto power.

"I don't like it," Qara said. "He's too old, and paladins all act like they sat on a broomstick."

_Too old?_ Kayla stared at Qara. _What did she think this was, a cotillion?_

"Ooh," Grobnar squeaked in excitement. "Knights and dragons and damsels in towers! How epic! Just think of the songs I could write..."

"I'll take that as a yes," Kayla smiled. "And I say yes as well, because Khelgar and Elanee are right. We could use another warrior. You all do your part, and I'm grateful for each of you, but one more fighting man on our side means less risk of losing any of you. So that's three yeas and two nays. Besides, he can heal with a touch, and my spells take longer."

"Well he isn't touching me!" Neeshka protested.

Kayla smiled.

"No, Neesh, I'll heal you myself," she said. "Besides, if he makes you itch, you probably do the same to him."

He returned carrying more gear than Kayla had expected. Besides a backpack, a greatsword and a longbow, he had a folded up tarp, a couple blankets, and two full waterskins. Kayla marveled that he could even move under the weight of it, fully armored as he was, but his burdens did not slow him down. He might not have Bishop's lupine grace, but his movements were fluid, effortless, efficient. And his return brought back a feeling of rightness. She had not known about paladins and their auras before, but she was convinced in the advantage of keeping him near.

"I think the mule can take a bit more," she told him.

"We should move out of this place," he said. "But it is too late to go far. There is a good spot not far from here."

He led them a couple miles into the hills, to a rocky ledge on the side of another, steeper ravine. They had some shelter from the rock face, but Kayla still felt exposed.

"We could have camped on the valley floor," she said. "We can't very well have a fire tonight, open as it is up here."

"No, we will not have a fire tonight," he agreed. "If we catch anything, we can cook it, but the fire must be out by nightfall."

She watched in shock as he opened his waterbottle and sluiced some of it over his head. He then wet a rag and wiped the worst of the grime off his face.

"The water!" Kayla protested. "We don't have much of it left, even with what you brought."

"We'll have rain tonight," he said. "We can spare enough to wash our faces."

"Was that why you did not want to camp on the valley floor?" Kayla asked.

"Yes," he said. "If it rained hard enough, you'd be swept away in the flood."

Kayla busied herself setting out the kettles. When she returned, Casavir was gone, and Neeshka and Grobnar, too.

"Gone hunting," Khelgar explained.

When they returned a short time later, they had only managed to hit two rabbits and a lizard. Kayla's stomach lurched at the thought of eating lizard, but meat was meat. But there were six of them, excluding Elanee, and the catch would not go far... and it would be tough. There was not enough daylight left to stew it, so she'd be obliged to thread it on skewers.

_Lean, stringy, dry meat, _Kayla rolled her eyes. _How appealing. Still, it's this or go hungry. Better save what's left of the cheese for El._

It was her turn to cook, so she set to it with little enthusiasm. She was just threading the first of the meat on the skewers when someone crouched down beside her. Casavir took the meat from her hands, then made a slit in a succulent leaf he held. He pushed the sliver into the cut and reached for another.

"Pack it into the leaves," he said. "And lay it in the coals."

"Thanks," Kayla said, but he was already walking away. He and Khelgar started setting up their lean-tos. Kayla watched them. They were not talking much, but they seemed easy enough in each others' company.

Perhaps it was the gloomy anticipation of a wet evening, or the presence of a stranger among them, but they were much more subdued than usual while they ate. Only Grobnar was unaffected. He chattered away at no one, though. Elanee was always sleepy in the evening, so there was nothing odd in that. Qara seemed to have decided that the paladin was unlovely, and therefore not worth her time, because she avoided him, and took herself off to the lean-to she shared with Elanee as soon as she'd finished eating. Khelgar, too, busied himself with quiet things, polishing his axe and poking at their pitiful fire. Casavir said nothing. Kayla shrugged. There was bound to be a period of adjustment.

Kayla scattered their fire and shoveled dirt over the coals.


	7. First Impressions

The rain had come. The first heavy drops fell even as Kayla doused the fire, and it rapidly increased to a deluge. They scattered, running for the shelter of the lean-tos.

Kayla shared hers with Neeshka, but the tiefling was already spreading out her bedroll.

"Nighty night," she mumbled sleepily, and wrapped herself in her blankets.

Casavir had his lean-to to himself, she noticed. But that made sense. He'd brought his own tarp with him, and Khelgar and Grobnar were already sharing. She watched him pull cloth items out of his pack, then dart out into the rain to spread them out on the flattest rocks he could find. Where one formed a hollow, he bunched up whatever it was, and filled the hollow with it. That accomplished, he ducked back under his shelter and unbuckled his belt. He took something else out of his pack and sat cross-legged on his bedroll, with the end of his belt under one knee and the other end in his hand. He stroked something small and metallic along the length of the belt, dragging it across the leather in a steady rhythm.

Kayla's curiosity had the better of her. She ducked out from under her own lean-to and stood in front of Casavir, waiting for permission to sit on his blanket. He gestured curtly beside him and continued run the metal thing against his belt.

Once seated, she could see that he was stopping a razor.

For a while, the only sounds were the rain and the steady _thrum_ of the razor against the belt.

"What did you put on the rocks?" Kayla asked.

"My spare clothing," he answered.

_Thrum... thrum... thrum... thrum..._

"It will get wet," she observed, in what she felt was a flash of genius... or perhaps not.

"Yes," he replied. "It is raining."

_Thrum... thrum... thrum... thrum..._

"Then why did you put it out? It won't get clean out there."

"It is already clean. I'll be able to wring enough water from it to shave."

_Thrum... thrum... thrum... thrum..._

"We've got the kettles out," Kayla observed.

"That water is for drinking," he replied.

_Thrum... thrum... thrum... thrum..._

"Do you do that often?" she asked, stupidly.

"Drink?" he asked incredulously.

"No... shave." What had possessed her to ask something so inane?

"Whenever it rains."

_Thrum... thrum... thrum... thrum..._

"Are you from here?" she asked. Gods, the questions were just getting better and better.

"No," he answered. "I was born in Neverwinter."

_Thrum... thrum... thrum... thrum..._

"How long have you been a paladin?" she could not believe she had asked that question. Paladins, like sorcerers, were born that way.

"All my life," he answered patiently. He paused a moment, then, as if anticipating her next question, went on.

"I took my vows twelve years ago," he said.

_Thrum... thrum... thrum... thrum..._

"Have you ever been to the Docks?" she asked.

Ilmater's mercy, she thought, I'm making a fool of myself. And I can't seem to help myself.

"Yes," he answered.

"I ask because my uncle owns the Sunken Flagon..." she tried to explain.

_And if he knows it, then what?_ She wondered at her own inanity. _Does that make us third cousins, twice removed or something? Save me, someone..._

"Decent ale," he observed, "but your uncle should hire a new cook."

"Sal's cooking is vile," she agreed.

_Thrum... thrum... thrum... thrum..._

"Have you ever been to Waterdeep?" she heard herself ask to her utter disbelief.

"No," he said.

_Thrum... thrum... thrum... thrum..._

"You fight with a hammer," Kayla said, powerless to stop herself. "I thought paladins used swords."

"I like hammers," he replied. "And they are sacred to Tyr."

_Thrum... thrum... thrum... thrum..._

"Do you -"

"My lady is inquisitive this evening," he observed, interrupting her.

She made no reply but a nervous cough. He put his razor away and fastened his belt around his waist again.

"Perhaps you might indulge a question of mine," he went on. "You are a cleric of the Morning Lord. I have seen his symbol on your shield. I sense no evil about you. Yet you travel with a tiefling, when all the world knows they are not trustworthy. Why?"

"You narrow-minded..." she began, then stopped herself. She was in his tent, sitting on his bedroll. He was her host.

"Neeshka is a good friend," she said. "She would never betray me."

"She is also a thief," he replied. "Do not deny it. I saw her lockpicks when she was going through her pack."

"Yes," despite her resolve to be polite, her anger was rising. "And she is also damn good at disarming traps. Will you object to that, when we get to Logram's lair?"

"No," he said patiently. "Forgive me, my lady. I meant no offense to your friend. Though I did wonder how you can be so assured that the evil of her heritage is so completely suppressed."

"You tell me," she retorted. "Does she feel evil to you?"

"No, my lady," he admitted. "She does not. That is why I wondered if my own perceptions might be in error."

_Does he mean that he is questioning whether he heard wrong about tieflings, or is he doubting that he can still spot evil at ten paces?_

"She might be a little selfish at times," Kayla admitted. "But she isn't evil. And I'd better not hear you giving her grief on that score, paladin..."

_Or what? Will I abandon Issani and my mission because he said something unfair about my friend? But that gives me an idea. And why not? All the other ones have been positively stellar, so far._

"You're Tyr's man, right?" she asked. "Your accusations about Neeshka are unjust, but I can't prove it to you by telling you. Watch her, and judge for yourself."

"I shall," he said. "Forgive me, my lady. It is getting late, and the night grows chill. I should not keep you from returning to your bedroll."

With nothing else to do, she went back to her tent and rolled herself in her blanket.

_Well, that went well,_ she reflected ironically. _I've bored him with a hundred idiotic questions and called him a liar. What will I do tomorrow, pee on his holy symbol?_

She avoided Casavir the next morning. She knew she would not be able to keep it up long, since they would be traveling together, but she had hoped to forestall actually talking to him until she was surrounded by her companions, and less likely to repeat her performance of the night before.

Her optimism proved groundless. No sooner had she finished saying her devotions than the man himself walked up to her.

She stared. He was... beautiful. There was no other word to describe him. With the lower half of his face no longer covered in a ragged, dusty beard, he now appeared angelic. He had a strong jaw and high cheekbones, certainly, but describing individual features failed to convey the perfection of his visage. He had not yet donned his armor, so she was free to admire his slender, muscular body in nothing but his shirt and leggings.

Conscious that she was staring, she turned away.

_He's a holy warrior,_ she reminded herself. _He is pure and... well, holy. Do not look at him like that!_

"My lady," he said, inclining his head to her. "I came to apologize for my behavior last night. I had no right to criticize your friend, nor to make you uncomfortable in doing so. Forgive me..."

His voice trailed off. He stepped around in front of her again, looking at her intently.

"My lady," he asked, "are you all right?"

"Yes, Casavir," she said hesitantly. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."

He smiled a little then, an ironic, slightly bitter smile.

"You have never met one of my calling, have you?" he asked gently.

"No," she admitted. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare."

"Do not trouble yourself," he brushed it off.

"Does that happen often?" she asked, praying that this would not launch another barrage of ridiculous questions from her.

"Often enough," he said softly. "Your breakfast is ready, my lady. We have a long day ahead of us."

* * *

_The girl is a nuissance, _Casavir decided. _The way she stared, and her questions last night... No. She was making conversation. She was doing it badly, but she was trying, and that was more than I was able to do. She is an unspoiled child, facing a task that may well kill her, and she still can muster the courage to attempt polite conversation with _Katalmach_. I might have made it easier for her. But no, all I could think of to talk about was that damned tiefling. I have been alone too long, if I cannot even indulge in small talk with my companions._

_And I _have_ been alone too long. I have no friends. Even Callum is lost to me. _

_It was good, leading my own private crusade, but it is time to put that aside. This is no band of displaced veterans, fighting to win a new home. These people have no stake in the fortunes of Old Owl Well, but they would help, anyway, though they do not even know why. No. Kayla would help. She is compassionate, caring for even the demonspawn, out of friendship. _

_She is a righteous creature, I am certain. Her heart is untouched by any evil that I can sense._

_And you did look, didn't you, you suspicious bastard, _he chided himself._ You even wasted a spell on it. As if you needed such. You saw her holy symbol, and you saw her use her powers. Lathander is an impulsive god, but he is a force of goodness. He teaches compassion and acceptance. His servants are honorable. You have served worse masters than Kayla of Lathander. Yet you cast your little spell when she wasn't looking, because you wouldn't believe the testimony of your own eyes. Idiot._

_But why will I serve her, when I do not know her loyalties?_ Khelgar didn't seem to think it important, Casavir recalled. He'd broached the subject to the dwarf the night before, while they were setting up camp.

"Your leader, Khelgar," he'd said, with uncharacteristic bluntness. "What are her convictions?"

"Don't rightly know, lad," Khelgar had scowled. It had amused Casavir to be called lad by the dwarf. By relative standards, the dwarf was younger than he. "And don't much care. Her heart's in the right place, and she's never given my conscience a moment's pain. Well, apart from that time she insisted on making peace with the lizardmen instead of fighting them... and that time she went along with Elanee's mad idea about charming the wolves. But she was just doing what she thought was right, and it all worked out in the end, even if we didn't get to bash any heads. Mostly, I just go along with whatever she says. We all do, except for Qara. That girl needs a swift kick."

If Khelgar followed her blindly, his conscience was easy about it.

_He is her Katriona,_ Casavir thought. _No, he is better than Katriona. He serves her because he believes in her, not because he has illusions about her._ The Ironfists were an honorable clan, it was said. If the dwarf could trust her, then perhaps so, too could he... once he had satisfied his own curiosity about her... and that would require that he talk to her.

That thought caused him a moment's panic. He had never been easy around women, at least not until he had ceased to think of them as such. Once they had taken on genderless roles, like "sergeant" or "scout"... or "trouble"... he could speak to them in perfect comfort. Could he cease to think of Kayla as female? Perhaps. He had certainly had no difficulty imagining that she was a male elf, before he had met her.

This morning, it was more difficult. She had certainly realized he was male, he could see that. But he was used to it. Indeed, he had endured far worse. Yet... when he had gone to apologize to her, she had been so vulnerable, so enticing. And there was certainly nothing genderless about the way she moved.

He allowed himself a sigh. He would not betray himself so easily. He had seen women before, and ones far more dangerous to his composure than Kayla of Lathander. He could ignore much.


	8. Off to a Bad Start

At breakfast, Kayla was relieved to discover that she was not the only one to notice the change in Casavir's appearance.

"What did you go and do that for?" Khelgar harumphed. "You're going to get a nasty cold in your face, I'll warrant."

Casavir had just smiled, and muttered something about such things being impossible. Colds were one inconvenience the paladin would never have to endure, or any other disease, for that matter.

"Ah, you'll just have to start all over again," Khelgar went on, stroking the mass of his own plaited beard. "Not that you'll ever grow a beard as fine as this, mind."

"Not everybody wants a badger hanging off his chin," Neeshka laughed.

Kayla ignored the ensuing argument, just as she did every time Khelgar and Neeshka squabbled. It kept them amused.

She stole another glance at the paladin, sitting forgotten on the rock beside her. She felt her cheeks redden. He was already looking at her.

"Do you allow this?" he asked.

"It keeps them happy," Kayla shrugged.

"I see," he nodded. Kayla was about to protest that she did not encourage contention, but she changed her mind. There had been no disapproval in Casavir's tone. As a leader of men himself, he might just understand the importance of allowing her companions to be easy in her company. Even in so small a force as hers, morale was everything.

"Khelgar is a good sergeant," Casavir said quietly.

"Er..." Kayla replied, once more praying that words would not fail her, "Khelgar isn't exactly my sergeant. Well, maybe he is. He gets everybody sorted with their tasks when it comes time to make camp, and he draws up the watch rotation... did anybody ever relieve you last night?"

"Yes," he said. "Khelgar himself relieved me two candles after you retired, and I understand Grobnar had the watch after his... Do you stand watch, my lady?"

"Yes, of course I do," Kayla replied quickly, though she privately swore to talk to Khelgar about that, and soon. She did stand watch, sometimes, but it was unusual enough to make her think Khelgar was letting her off light.

"Perhaps that is unwise," Casavir said. "You have many responsibilities..."

"None of which prevent me from taking my turn, Casavir..." she suddenly felt uneasy addressing him so informally. "Should I call you that?"

"It is my name," he sounded puzzled.

"But you're a paladin," Kayla blurted. "It doesn't sound very respectful."

He smiled at her then, but it was a genuine smile, unguarded.

"We need not stand on ceremony, among ourselves," he said. "Your companions certainly don't."

She sighed. Casavir's own language was so formal, so polite, that it was difficult for her to accept his assertions. But if he was comfortable with it, there was no reason for her to be more reserved. Maybe sooner or later, he'd ask somebody what her name was, and he could start using it himself.

"If you will excuse me, my lady, I should see about arming myself. We are far too vulnerable for my comfort."

He got up and went back to his gear. As much as she had enjoyed the sight of him dressed in a fighting man's undergarments, this was not the Sunken Flagon. They should all be armored.

Neeshka took advantage of the paladin's absence to seat herself on his rock. Khelgar had apparently gone off to bully Grobnar into packing up.

"He cleans up nice," the tiefling said. "He took years off, with that beard."

Kayla grinned wickedly at her.

"I didn't think he was your type, Neesh," she leered.

If Kayla's smile had been wicked, Neeshka's was diabolical.

"He isn't," she purred, "but he might be yours."

"Get that thought out of your head!" Kayla was shocked. "He's a paladin! They take oaths about that kind of thing."

"Not all of them," Neeshka replied, more quietly. "Chastity vows are pretty rare, these days. Maybe I should ask him?"

"You'll do nothing of the sort!" Kayla sputtered, alarmed at her own reaction. She couldn't think of him that way, she just couldn't... though she had to admit that she was. Her face burned.

"It looks like he might not be too old, after all," Elanee observed. She was standing beside Kayla, looking in the direction of Casavir's lean-to.

"Heh. It looks like Qara will have him, if you won't," Neeshka giggled.

Kayla stared. They were right. Qara was standing very close to Casavir, talking to him with readily apparent interest. They were too far away to hear the dialogue, but it looked like Casavir was explaining the rudiments of armor to Qara, laying out bits of it, pointing, and then picking it up and demonstrating how it was put on.

She watched him don his harness over his tunic. Kayla knew how that worked. She wore plate armor herself. The leather staps ran over the shoulders and met at a belt at the waist, to support the leg armor, the cuisses. The cuisses hung from the belt, but had their own straps that fastened about the thigh, to keep them in place. In the normal course of arming himself, once the cuisses were attached to the harness and the straps buckled, Casavir would put on his gambeson, the padded jacket that he would wear under the breastplate, and then attach his pauldrons to his shoulders, vambraces to his arms, and greaves to his shins. Poleyns and couters would protect his knees and elbows, respectively. But Casavir was taking his time, explaining how it all fit together, as if he thought Qara cared about such things.

From where Kayla was sitting, she appeared to do so. She watched Qara fit a cuisse to Casavir's leg, and then fasten the straps behind it. Qara then, swiftly, but very deliberately, ran her hand along the inside of the paladin's unarmored thigh, from his knee to his groin. He jumped away as if Qara had just touched a hot poker to him.

"You shall not!" Casavir's voice was clear, even across the distance.

Kayla was horrified. Her own companion had just assaulted a holy man. She sprang to her feet, though Qara had already retreated, laughing at the paladin's discomfort.

"Casavir, I'm sorry," she gasped.

He swallowed, but made no other response for some moments. Kayla watched his chest rise and fall with his ragged breathing.

_Ilmater's mercy,_ Kayla thought, _did she touch him... _there_?_

Qara's inappropriate caress had been too quick for Kayla to say with any certainty where it ended.

Kayla felt the tears rise in her eyes. They needed Casavir. He alone could show them to Logram's lair. And Qara had thrown it all away, for a chance to fondle the paladin. Kayla was mortified. She could not hold back her shame.

"Casavir..." what could she say?

* * *

Casavir took a deep, steadying breath. The vixen had the audacity to stroke him, and gotten a good feel of his balls, too, before he'd escaped. It had unsettled him greatly, but he could be calm now. Her touch had shocked him, but it had not roused him, so he need fear no further humiliation in front of his leader.

What he needed most was a quiet moment to steady his nerves, but there she stood, right in front of him, gulping air like a fish on a dock. She looked as shocked as he felt. He had begun to fear that he had fallen in with a band of thrill-seekers, but Kayla's embarrassment over the incident convinced him that he was mistaken. Had such a gesture been more commonplace, she would not be so anxious.

And what of the... incident? Was it so vile? The sorceress mocked him, surely, but "Tempt the Paladin" was a favored pastime among Neverwinter's more privileged daughters. Might Qara not have simply decided to play a round of it with him? The brazen clumsiness of her move assured him that she was no expert at the art. No true master of it would have stooped to anything as crude as a grope.

Kayla was watching him. Her lip quivered. This was no pampered heiress. Casavir doubted she even knew of the game... or that she would have indulged in it if she did. No, she was too moral for that, praise Tyr.

"No, my lady," he said at at last, "she did no lasting harm. She is a child, testing her boundaries. She has found them."

"I'm sorry, Casavir," she repeated. "I'll speak to her at once. She doesn't know about... your vows."

_What vows? _he wondered. _She knows I'm a paladin... no... those vows. She thinks I've taken a chastity oath. As if there was ever any need._ His own conscience was a harsher master than any oath he might have made on the Book of Law. Casavir shook his head.

"No," he said firmly. "Do not. Forgive me. I do not wish to speak of this any longer."

"Of course," the girl muttered, eyes downcast.

He watched her walk away, back to her own gear. She had armed herself before breakfast, but he could still see the gentle sway of her slim hips.

_Too boyish, _he thought,_ but the way she walks... Stop that at once! Good thing she can't see you now, righteous one. You might dry your laundry on that. And you're still not armed, let alone packed._

Casavir thought while he packed. His initial assessment of his leader had not been favorable, but she was trying to draw him out, get to know him. She cared about her followers. Her awe at seeing him beardless might be forgiven. Though his humility balked at the admission, Kayla of Lathander had not been the first woman who had found his face too pleasing for her own comfort. If she lacked the ability to hide it, that was to her credit, as well. Her guilelessness was no flaw, the paladin felt. Her reaction to Qara's flirtation? Naïve, yes, but endearing. If she even knew about the passions such a caress might have invoked, she was certainly solicitous of his comfort.

The time he had spent in her company so far had been awkward, perhaps, but he had learned much of his leader in the process. She was no Callum. She did not exert her command with the detachment he was accustomed to, but her companions followed her because they wanted to. Not for the first time, Casavir wondered if it might not be better that way, to serve out of love, not simply obedience. And was that not why he served Tyr? He was true to his calling, and faithful to it, but his love of justice and all that was right and good moved him far more than a long list of "Thou shalt"s.

He would speak with her as they walked. As she became accustomed to him, she might be more easy around him, and the awkwardness would fade.

_And why do I desire this? I will show them Logram's lair, and help them survive once inside. After that... we will go our separate ways._

He could not explain the odd lurch he felt at that thought. He wanted this life. He had sought it himself, once he left Neverwinter. It had been good to leave the politics and the corruption of the city behind. Fighting for the people of Old Owl Well had given his life purpose, and he had rejoiced in the solitude. No one had troubled him here. There were no maidens of the court out here, playing at their favorite game. There were no endless plots and counterplots, or intrigue. His world was filled with nothing but the thought of surviving another day. His men were strangers to him, and he liked it that way. He was free. And he was alone. Why did the thought that he might once more resume his solitary life feel more like a punishment than a reward?

Perhaps it was because it could never happen. Not now.

His death did not lie before him in Logram's lair, despite Katriona's concerns. He would survive it, and he would go back to the Greycloak camp. Callum would know him, and his anonymity would end. He was being thrust back into the life he had left, and he was powerless to prevent it.

Or he might go somewhere else. Were there not slaves in Mulhorand, clamoring to taste free air?

Still, something felt wrong about contemplating such a voyage. It felt like defiance.

_Is that it? Has Tyr called me back, to serve him in Neverwinter?_

If so, perhaps Kayla's little company might expand to include one more. He already felt the beginnings of respect toward Khelgar, though he did not trust him to stay out of a fight. He did not need to exert his powers to sense that Khelgar was true to his word. He did not trouble himself about Elanee or Grobnar. He would get to know them well enough in time. Qara... he could ignore Qara. He had already assigned her the label "trouble," so he would simply avoid her. Nor did he expect the sorceress to seek him out. He would bore her. Kayla... could he befriend a woman? He could. He only needed to stop thinking about her as a woman and start thinking of her as a human being.

_A human being with hands like two lilies,_ he added mentally. _But you have seen graceful hands before, paladin, and kissed them in greeting or leave-taking with perfect civility._

But if he was resolved to be easy in her company, she was still awkward in his. That, at least, might be remedied. He had already decided that any discomposure she might feel would lessen once he became familiar to her. So he would talk to her.

Logram's holdings were many miles distant, and the gnome was not swift. They would leave the mule here, and travel light. The pack animal was too easy to spot. Their added burdens would slow them, he knew. The soceress, the tiefling and the bard had little stamina, so they would be obliged to rest often. If they could get underway by mid-morning, they would still not reach the orc lair until after nightfall. They would have to be on their guard, of course, but they would be unlikely to encounter any real danger until they reached the outer perimeter, sometime around mid-afternoon. There, they must halt until morning.


	9. Easy in His Presence

Casavir walked beside Kayla. Initially, this had cheered her. His close proximity meant that she walked in his aura, and that made her feel invincible.

Her contentment did not last. His silence troubled her. He was a grim man, _Katalmach_, and Callum's words about him, and her own observation of his interview with Katriona had confirmed her suspicions that his thoughts were dark.

In the day since they met, she had shown him that she would cheerfully fill an evening with absurdity rather than tolerate five minutes' silence. She had discredited his beliefs. She had stared at him like a love-struck farm girl. Her companion had violated him. Casavir of Tyr had no reason to be easy in her company... yet he was.

He did not smile, but their mission was too serious for mirth. Stealing a glimpse of him, she saw that he did not appear troubled. He did not even look like he was thinking. He just... was.

"Do you see that shrub?" he asked her suddenly.

"It looks dead," she observed.

"Indeed," he replied, "but it is still Ches. In Mirtul, it will be covered with red-orange blossoms. By Kythorn, the blooms will have faded, but dark green, arrow-shaped leaves will replace the flowers. When the leaves turn brown and drop, the wise will gather them, and use them to start fires all winter. Sometimes, if the summer is too hot, the sap will boil, and the bush will burst into flame. We called it the fire shrub."

"And that one?" Kayla asked, pointing to another bush. This one was similar, but it's bark appeared to hang off it in thin strips.

"That one really is dead," he explained. "There is an insect out here that eats the membrane under the bark. We call it the bark-cutter wasp. We were never very original with our names, I fear."

They went on quietly for a few moments, then he stopped her, took her forearm, and pointed to a ledge overhead.

"That bird kept me awake many nights, when I first arrived," he said.

"What is it called?" Kayla asked.

"I do not know," he answered, "but it has a cry like hysterical laughter, and it only sings at night. The sound is unsettling, until you get used to it."

"I've probably heard it myself," Kayla grinned, "and just thought it was Grobnar."

"Perhaps," he said. "The voices are eerily similar."

They walked a bit more.

"My lady," he said at last, "some of your companions fall behind. May we rest here? If you are able to climb a bit, there is something I want to show you."

Kayla ordered the halt and followed the paladin. He led her to the foot of a rocky incline.

"Can you climb this?" he asked.

"I think so," she said.

If she thought it was going to be an easy climb, she was mistaken. The slope was steep, and the rocks slid underfoot alarmingly, but she managed it. He led her to a rocky outcropping that overhung the trail. He sat on the rock, and dangled his long legs over the edge. She seated herself beside him.

She gasped. The view was breathtaking. Mountains and valleys rolled on toward the horizon, their snow-capped peaks glittered in the bright spring sunshine.

"Neverwinter is that way," Casavir said, pointing, "and Waterdeep lies yonder."

"Which way is West Harbor?" Kayla asked, then cursed herself. She was sitting mere inches from an achingly beautiful man, looking at glorious vistas, and she was homesick. Perhaps it was only that he reminded her of Brother Merring, then. It was so easy to imagine her mentor saying the things the paladin was saying, introducing her to the sights of the place.

"Are you a Harborman?" Casavir asked.

"Yes," Kayla answered. "Do you know it?"

"I have never been to the Mere," the paladin replied, "but I have heard its people are hardy folk. Cormick of the Watch is a Harborman, is he not?"

"Yes!" did Casavir know Cormick? Well, he said he was born in Neverwinter. He never said when he left. "He is from the West Harbor, too. He was the last person before me to win all four competitions in the Harvest Fair. But it's odd. He must have won a Harvest Cloak, but I've never seen him wear it."

"What is a Harvest Cloak?" he asked.

Now, it was Kayla's turn for tales. She told the paladin about the Harvest Fair and its four challenges, and about the Harvest Cup and the Harvest Cloak she still wore.

"You should have it," she said impulsively, unfastening the front.

"I, my lady?" he raised an arched eyebrow at her generosity.

"Yes," Kayla handed it to him. "It has an enchantment on it, Sand told me. Sand is a merchant in the Docks, a friend of my uncle's, and he deals in magical... things."

She blushed at her own lack of eloquence.

"I know his shop," Casavir took the cloak. "But you won this. From what you say, winning the prize was a great honor. Why should I have it?"

"The enchantment it carries is better suited to one of your calling than mine," she said. "It might enhance your powers... not that you need the help, of course, but why take chances?"

"Then I thank you, my lady," he said, accepting her gift graciously. "But it is still too early in the year to go without a cloak, so you shall have mine."

He removed his own cloak, a heavy, gray, blanket-like thing, and draped it around her shoulders. As he fastened it at her throat, his face was nearly close enough to kiss. She fought down the desire to do so. It was not easy. The skin of his cheek looked soft, where the razor had passed, and she longed to feel it against her lips. Maybe it would be acceptable as thanks for the gift of his cloak? She leaned forward and brushed her lips lightly against his cheek, and thrilled at the touch. His cheek was soft and smooth, as she had expected, but there was something more, as if the aura that engulfed him emanated from his skin, and the brief, chaste kiss transferred some of that energy to her own lips.

"What have I done to deserve such a gesture?" he asked. She panicked for a moment, fearing that he would interpret her impulsive caress as just another form of Qara's sport. But no, he had not flinched, nor even retreated.

"You gave me a gift," Kayla answered. "I thanked you."

"You have given me one as well," he observed. Slowly, shyly, he touched his own lips to her cheek. She felt a jolt of a different kind of power, then, a faint echo of the rapture she had known with Bevil, five months before. It was vaguely unsettling, but not at all unpleasant. Still, she felt a little guilty at her response. He was a sacred vessel of Tyr's will, not a farm boy stealing a kiss behind the grain bin. But he was also a man, albeit a pure, uncorrupted one, and as human as she. She must respect him, but she should not worship him.

"I am curious," the paladin began, breaking the awkward silence that followed the exchange, "how were you able to win the Harvest Brawl? Forgive my tactlessness, but you are no Khelgar."

"I have no idea," Kayla laughed, relieved to resume more natural conversation. "We must have gotten lucky. Amie is... was... only a little bigger than me, and Bevil is strong, but he's slow. He's got a 'proper Harborman build,' as Georg Redfell would say."

"You sound fond of him," Casavir said.

_It was a simple statement,_ Kayla thought. _There is no reason for you to get all defensive over it. He doesn't know about you and Bevil, and he wouldn't care if he did, unless it was to say that children shouldn't play at adult games. So get that retort out of your head. He didn't intend any slight to Bevil, or to you._

"I am fond of him," Kayla heard herself say, though she was relieved that she'd kept the tone neutral. "He is my oldest friend. I used to think he would have made a good paladin, but that was before I knew they... you... were called from birth. Anyway, he and Amie Fern were my best friends at West Harbor, and Brother Merring, of course, though he was more like a father than a friend."

"We have some time," the paladin observed. "It looks like Grobnar and Khelgar are redistributing the gear. Would you tell me about these people?"

It was a relief, talking about all the familiar faces and places of home. She spoke freely, unresevedly, even, telling him about her tutelage with Brother Merring, her friendship with Bevil and Amie, and her rivalry with the Mossfelds. She told him about Retta Starling, and Georg Redfell, the gossip, and Lazlo's mead, and good, honest Orlen and his delicious bacon. She was afraid she might be boring him, but he encouraged her, asking for additional detail here, an explanation there, and laughing over her account of Lewy Jons' pig. She started to give him an account of the Harvest Ball.

"You have mentioned it several times, my lady," Casavir said at a pause, "but you have not yet explained it. What is a 'Harborman's build'?"

"Oh, that," Kayla laughed. "They like them big, in the Mere. Tall, broad men, sturdy women, the kind that can dig drainage ditches all day and still have the strength to wrestle a pig at the end of it. It's a simple life."

"And a rewarding one, I deem," the paladin said with approval. "But I interrupted you. You were telling me about the Harvest Ball."

Kayla resumed her tale, happily telling him all about Bevil's intermittent jug playing, Georg Redfell's assault on the fiddle, and her dance with Ward Mossfeld. She was so engrossed in her storytelling that she had even begun to tell him about her walk with Bevil.

"What did he want to show you, my lady?" Casavir asked.

Kayla panicked. She had been too unguarded. Her listener might be human, but he was a holy warrior, and chaste. He would not want to hear about her fumbling induction into womanhood.

"The moon," she stammered. "There is a stream behind his house, and if you lie on the bank, the view of the moon on the water is beautiful."

She risked a glance at the paladin. He looked at her knowingly, but there was no censure in his gaze. No, the paladin was too much the gentleman to ask her to elaborate any further.

She allowed herself to relax, and looked out toward the horizon. She laughed, struck by a sudden parallel. Bevil had brought her to that spot because it had a lovely view. Perhaps he hoped that the romance of it would improve his chances. Casavir had brought her to this ledge because it, too, offered a magnificent view. What did he want?

She turned to Casavir again, and once more, he was looking at her. This time, he looked a bit uneasy, as if he guessed the path of her thoughts.

"This place is beautiful, Casavir," she said, grasping for a way to reassure him. "How did you find it?"

He laughed.

"An epic tale, I assure you," he chuckled. "But Grobnar is not here to record it, so perhaps I had better save it for another time."

"Please, Casavir?" she wheedled. "I told you about Lewy's pig."

"Very well," he gave in, "though the tale is less entertaining than your Harvest Fair."

"I had not been here long," he began, "and I had no Callum to warn me about drinking the water. A paladin might be immune to disease, but he is just as susceptible to poison as the next man. I found out the hard way."

"Didn't your men try to stop you?" Kayla was surprised.

"They never knew," he laughed. "They were here before me, but I led them. No doubt they all assumed that I was aware of the danger. I was not. There was a gully of fresh water that ran beside the camp. We bathed in it and washed our clothing in it, so I thought it safe. The day was warm, though it was autumn. I had been cutting firewood all day, and had worked up a tremendous thirst, and the cisterns were on the other side of camp. I was weary, so I slaked my thirst with water from the gully.

"The first warning I had that all was not well was a trembling in my gut, but I disregarded it, thinking it nothing more than hunger, or the discomfort of a diet different than I was accustomed to. When I vomited on my own sergeant's boots, I was forced to admit I was ill. If I did not know what ailed me, my men certainly did. 'Another rip-gut patient for you, Taven,' Katriona said, and I was consigned to the healer's care until I'd weathered the worst of it. The first night was unspeakable. At the time, I felt I'd purged myself of everything I'd ever eaten, but the cramps gave me no rest, and by then, my guts were rebelling, as well. The next day was little better. I no longer had anything in me, so it felt as if my body were trying to rid itself of my stomach and innards, as well. By sunset, I was a bit better. I was able to eat a little, but more importantly, I was able to sleep.

"The next morning, I was much improved, and felt myself fit enough to join the morning's patrol. Katriona tried to stop me, saying that it was still too soon, but I would not listen to her. I said that I knew my guts better than she did, and assured her that I would be fine.

"I was wrong. I made it this far before I had to stop. I did not throw up, but I was... indisposed." He paused. Kayla suppressed a smile at his embarrassment, as if the paladin thought his guts did not work the same as everyone else's. But he went on.

"The rest of the patrol went on ahead, to give me some privacy. I said I would catch up. Perhaps a quarter-candle later, I heard the orcs approaching. They were making a racket, so I knew there were many of them. And there I was, with my leggings around my ankles and cramps so bad I could not even stand. I saw this ledge overhead, and was able to crawl up here to hide.

"I was lucky. It was a very large group of orcs, moving from Yaisog's lair to Logram's, and they were well armed. But it was midday, and orcs are sluggish during daylight. Yaisog called a halt, and I was obliged to wait up here all afternoon. By the time they left, there was not enough daylight left to make it back to camp. I had to spend the night here on this ledge. If you think it beautiful now, you should see it at night, with the stars wheeling overhead and the moonlight making the snow on the mountains look like mallow flowers scattered on a black velvet cloak."

He cleared his throat.

"Didn't anyone come to look for you?" Kayla asked. "They must have known where you were."

He shrugged.

"They thought I had returned to camp," he said. "And had the orcs not happened by, I would have done so. By the time they realized I had not made it back, night was falling, and they dared not risk it, even for me."

"You don't travel by night?" Kayla was curious. "You said yourself the moon was out."

"Orcs have darkvision, my lady," he replied, "but I do not, nor did any of my men. I would have been surrounded and killed before I ever saw my attackers. That is why we will halt before nightfall. Khelgar and Grobnar can manage well enough, and Elanee, but at night, you and I are blind."

"And Qara," Kayla said, regretting it instantly. What had made her remind him of that, when they were getting along so well?

"Yes," he said, unperturbed. "And I fear we will have no fires tonight, even for cooking, nor tents. They are too easy to spot."

"I understand," Kayla agreed. "We will manage."

"We have been up here some time," Casavir said. Kayla thought she heard reluctance in his voice. Had he enjoyed talking with her enough to make him want to linger?

_He's probably just lonely,_ she thought. _He probably feels more comfortable with me because I'm a cleric._

Still, she watched him set off back down the slope. He was no Harborman, with his narrow hips and long legs, but he certainly was easy to look at. For one brief moment, she wondered what Qara had felt when she stroked his thigh. She could almost imagine her own hand sliding along his leggings, feeling the muscles beneath. She shook her own head to clear it, and set off after him.


	10. Trail Hazards

"So?" Neeshka asked, falling in step beside her. "What were the two of you doing up there?"

Kayla cast an anxious glance at Casavir's back, but he was speaking intently to Khelgar.

"Just talking," she answered.

"All that time?" the tiefling purred.

"Yes."

"About what?" Neeshka was persistent, if nothing else.

"West Harbor, mostly," Kayla shrugged, "though he told me about his first days here."

"So how come you're wearing his cloak?" the ever-observant tiefling asked.

"Because he's wearing mine," Kayla sighed. The thief would ferret it out of her anyway, so she might as well just get it over with. "We traded. The enchantment on the Harvest Cloak is more useful to him than it is to me, so he wears it. It's the same reason you got the Boots of Tumbling and Grobnar didn't."

"No," Neeshka disagreed, "the reason I got the boots is that we hadn't met Grobnar yet. You gave him the cloak because you wanted him to have it."

Kayla shrugged again. "It seemed a fair trade. This cloak is warm."

"So," the tiefling said, "let me see if I've got this right. You gave him a magic cloak, and he gave you a smelly old horse blanket. Some fair trade!"

"Oh, all right." Kayla took a breath to steady herself. "I also got a kiss out of it."

"See!" Neeshka squealed. Kayla elbowed her in the ribs, nodding at the paladin's back.

"See," Neeshka whispered, "I told you he didn't have any chastity vows."

"Listen, Neesh," Kayla hissed, "it wasn't that kind of kiss. If you must know, I started it. I gave him the Harvest Cloak because I thought it would give his powers a boost. He didn't want to take it, but he did, in the end. He gave me his cloak so I wouldn't freeze. He was fastening it himself, and his face was right there, and he'd just shaved, and, well, I figured I could use the excuse to kiss it. I just wanted to see what it felt like. He asked me why I did it, I said it was a thank you for the cloak, and he kissed my cheek back. That was all."

"So what was it like?" Neeshka asked softly.

"Nothing I want to talk about with you." Kayla was positive about that one.

"That good?" Neeshka's voice was dreamy.

_She's a tiefling,_ Kayla thought. _She probably hasn't had an awful lot of affection in her life._

"You would have hated it," Kayla said. "You'd have itched like mad."

"I bet!" the tiefling giggled. "Anyway, it looks like he's in a talkative mood today. Might as well take advantage of it. There's a couple questions I wanted to ask a paladin, but I've never met one who didn't want to smite me. Back in a bit."

With that, Neeshka wedged herself between Casavir and Khelgar. Casavir drew away from her, nearly stumbling on some loose stone, but Khelgar fell back, giving the paladin and the tiefling room to walk side by side.

"So, Casavir," Kayla heard Neeshka say. "I can call you that, right?"

"If you must," he said coolly. Kayla suppressed the urge to smack him in the back of the head.

"It looks like we're going to have to put up with each other for a while, so maybe we shouldn't be strangers."

The paladin made no response, so Neeshka plowed on.

"Maybe if we got to know each other a little better, it wouldn't be so hard to be around you."

"It's in our blood..." he paused, looking at her.

"Neeshka," the tiefling supplied.

"It's in our blood, Neeshka," he said. "I do not know if further familiarity will help."

"It wouldn't hurt, though," she went on, undeterred. "Would it? I mean, you make me itch, but I don't make you itch, right?"

"I can bear it," he answered stoically.

"Anyway," she went on, "there's a lot of things I don't know about paladins... like everything. Maybe if you told me a bit about it, it wouldn't bother me so much."

"It would bore you," he warned.

"Nah," the tiefling dismissed it, "I'm all horns... er... ears."

"Many people believe that we are called to serve our gods when we begin to become adults, but that is not true. A paladin's powers begin to manifest at that age, and most heed the call then, but from the moment of our birth, we are bound to our calling."

"Is that why you find paladins in villages that don't even have churches?" Neeshka asked. Kayla was surprised at her insight.

"Yes," he answered.

"So what do you have to do?" Neeshka asked. "I mean, what kind of lives do you have to lead?"

Casavir was silent a moment, but Neeshka waited.

"We must be an example of our faith," he said at last. "We must adhere to a code of conduct, and behave honorably at all times. Specific duties vary with the deity who claims us, but every paladin must put the lives and wellbeing of others above his own. Paladins of Torm value duty above all else, while those of Helm revere vigilance. Paladins of Ilmater ensure that all creatures receive the mercy that is their due while we of Tyr strive for justice... though we must be dutiful and merciful as well. Other gods call paladins, it is true – Lathander, Selune, Mystra, even Sune – but most serve the Triad, Tyr, Torm, and Ilmater."

"So," Neeshka said. "You belong to Tyr, so you have to be honorable and just, and you have to be willing to sacrifice everything so that other people can receive fair treatment. Ugh. I thought we tieflings had it tough."

"I do not follow," Casavir replied, clearly puzzled.

"Nobody expects tieflings to be well-behaved," Neeshka chuckled. "And the horns are a dead give-away. But paladins don't show it on the outside, so you have to just suck it up and be nice, and nobody even knows what you're giving up."

"I've never felt it to be a burden," the paladin protested.

"Well, no," she admitted, "but it is. I mean, there are so many things you can't do. You can't drink, you can't swear, you can't help yourself to the coins you found at the bottom of some slimy merchant's purse. You can't even... you know."

"You are mistaken, Neeshka," Casavir began, then quickly corrected himself. "We can't steal, it is true, but we are permitted to drink in moderation, though we may not become intoxicated, and even paladins swear, though we do try not to do so offensively. And no, I don't 'know.' What _else_ are we not permitted, by your reckoning?"

"Well," Neeshka began. Kayla held her breath. She had a sinking feeling that she knew what was coming next, but she didn't know how to interrupt tactfully, and she was a bit curious... not that she had any personal interest, of course. And she didn't, she realized. No matter what Neeshka said, unless Casavir preferred his women flat-chested and fish-belly pale, he would not be interested in her.

"I mean, suppose you met some nice girl at a tavern," the tiefling continued, the soul of innocence, "you couldn't even ask her up to your room to show her your holy symbol."

"_That,_" Casavir said dismissively. "No, we may not indulge simply for the sake of indulging, but we are permitted to marry... and..."

Neeshka waited. Though Kayla could not see Casavir's face, she could see his ears, and they were very red.

His sigh was exasperated, Kayla thought, and she couldn't blame him.

"Neeshka, I see through your ruse," he said at last. "You no doubt witnessed my unfortunate encounter with Qara this morning, and you probably wonder how many rounds of 'Tempt the Paladin' you can play before I start smiting things. I swear to you now that, while I have taken no chastity vow, I most sincerely do not appreciate that kind of attention. No, Neeshka, I am not tempted, nor am I even amused by it. I would thank you for never mentioning it again."

Kayla could see Neeshka's grin.

"You don't have to worry about that from me," the tiefling said. "I can hardly stand to look, let alone touch, but thanks for taking the trouble to explain it. It's good to know you're still human. Maybe you guys aren't the bags of bolts I thought you were. But one more question, and it won't upset you, I promise."

He sighed again, but waved his hand for her to continue.

"How come you don't see any female paladins?" she asked.

"I have known several," Casavir said. "Though, as you so astutely observed, we don't wear it on the outside. Perhaps you never knew."

"Could be," Neeshka admitted. "After all, it isn't as if I break out in a rash every time one of you walks by. Oh wait. I do. Well, maybe it's just that female paladins don't bother me so much. Do male tieflings bother you?"

"I don't know any," Casavir answered. Kayla could only admire Neeshka's skill. She had the answer she wanted, and Casavir was none the wiser.

"Neeshka," he said, "we are getting closer to the area where we must be silent. Please send your leader forward so I may brief her on what to expect."

Neeshka stepped back to walk between her and Khelgar.

"Did you hear that?" she whispered. "No chastity vow. Go on, now, and I want all the details."

Kayla just shook her head, but she did step forward to take her place by the paladin's side.

"Logram will have placed sentries," Casavir said. "There will likely be barricades. We must strike fast, and strike hard. None may escape. I have briefed Khelgar, but you should know this, too. Order your ranged weapons on scouts first, archers second. No word of our coming may reach Logram, or we'll have every orc ever spawned waiting at the door. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Casavir," she replied, amused that he had taken over leadership of the approach.

_And why not,_ Kayla reckoned. _He's done this before... well, not this, but he certainly knows what he's doing. In this, at least, he should lead us._

Casavir stopped suddenly, thrusting out his arm to both halt her movement and silence her. He appeared to be listening to something.

Inexplicably, he started running.

"Fall back!" he cried. "Khelgar! Follow me!"

Khelgar nearly knocked her over in his haste to obey. Kayla blinked. She had heard nothing that would cause either paladin or dwarf such alarm, but she readied her mace, nonetheless.

Casavir leapt down the trail, casting both shield and hammer aside and drawing his greatsword as he ran. Khelgar followed, dropping his hammer and taking his axe in both hands.

Kayla heard Casavir's battle cry as the two warriors rounded a bend in the trail. Kayla followed at a run, her mace in her hand.

Khelgar and Casavir faced perhaps a half dozen of the creatures. They were spiders, she knew, living things, yet they looked almost mechanical. Their silver-gray bodies glinted in the sunlight. They were hairless, unlike any spider Kayla had ever known, and they were fast. She could not say whether they were metal-plated or if their chitin had simply grown in razor-sharp ridges, but each of their legs was sharpened fore and aft with blades, and each of their massive abdomens bore a dozen, standing at angles to their bodies. If she had thought the spiders of West Harbor large, these were monstrous. The alien mage had summoned spiders the size of ponies, but these were bigger than the largest draft-horses.

For a moment, she hung back. She watched Casavir and Khelgar engage them, and she was impressed. Khelgar, she knew, fought like the righteous fury he was, but Casavir's wrath surpassed even that. He fought like a man possessed, lashing out with no regard for his own safety, striking hard and swift. He danced with his foes, luring them to lunge while he struck, then drawing back only to strike again with greater force. She was entranced by his skill. _Katalmach._

So absorbed was she that she somehow failed to notice that there was a seventh spider, clinging to the rocky slope above her head. Too late, she raised her mace, and too late she brought it down in her own defense. She felt the beast strike her, opening a gash where her neck met her body. But Kayla held firm. She ignored the chill creeping from the wound and struck at the sword spider's head. Her mace glanced harmlessly off the monstrosity's exoskeleton. The spider got in another blow, to her thigh, this time. Hamstrung, she dropped to the ground, but her foe knew nothing of mercy. It pursued her. She could not rise, but still she struck, making a desperate lunge at the creature's eye. The blow was solid, but the beast did not flinch. It lashed out again. She felt the flesh of her upper arm part under the blow, despite the plate she wore. Her mace fell to the ground. Ignoring her dizziness, she threw her shield away and picked up her mace in her off hand, giving her opponent a free shot. Mercifully, it was deflected by her helmet. Clumsily, she struck out at another eye. The sword spider was ready for her. Even as she lunged, it seized her forearm in its mandibles. The lower cannon of her vambrace deflected some of it, but it held her firmly, and only tightened its grip on her arm. The jagged points of its mandibles pierced her forearm through the gambeson. Fire exploded in her arm, then an icy numbness that was somehow worse. The mace fell from her limp hand.

"Damn it!" Casavir's voice was faint, distant. "I said 'fall back'!"

Kayla just fell.


	11. In Auril's Embrace

_Six of the infernal things!_ Casavir struck at the nearest, putting all his strength into the blow. He knew it would have to be a clean hit, or it would be deflected by its shell. The greatsword crunched through the chitin, sending a spray of yellow-green fluid across his face. He did not pause to wipe it off, but readied himself for another blow. His second killed the sword spider.

He spun to see how the dwarf fared. Khelgar was doing well, he saw, and gave the dwarf no further thought. He would keep himself alive.

Something pinched the unarmored back of his calf. He swung as he turned, taking off one of the spider's forelegs. Maddened, the beast lunged at him, but he brought his blade down hard between the rows of its eyes. It fell and moved no more.

_No spells!_ He looked around, but it was just Khelgar and himself... and three sword spiders. _Where are those damned spellcasters? Why are there no fireballs?_

His leg was going numb.

He fumbled in his belt pouch and seized the triangular flask inside. The paladin bit off the wax stopper and gulped the contents. Sword spider venom was deadly.

He was just finishing off his third spider when he saw movement in his peripheral vision. Kayla. She was sitting on the ground, feebly poking at a seventh spider... one he had not seen. The ground around her was dark with her blood. She'd lost her shield, and had her mace in her off hand. He watched helplessly as the beast seized her arm in its craw. Those mandibles would rend steel, he knew, and inject lethal venom into the wound.

"Damn it!" he cried. "I said 'fall back'!"

_Why is it that no one ever listens to me?_ He cursed, but he could not go to her now, not with two spiders bearing down on them. Khelgar dispatched one quickly, but Casavir was having trouble with his own. He had seen the cleric fall, and the distraction hindered him. Khelgar's axe crushed the head of the remaining spider.

"Cleric down!" Casavir called to the dwarf, pointing stupidly. The spider was dragging Kayla up the slope, back to its lair.

The spider dropped the body when Casavir and Khelgar closed on it, but it did not last long against them.

Casavir threw down his sword and pulled off his gauntlets. He knelt beside her.

"Is she..." the dwarf hovered anxiously at his side.

"No, she lives," Casavir said gratefully.

_But she won't live long if she loses any more blood... and the poison... that was my last antidote._

He tore her helmet off and laid one hand on each side of her narrow face. Tyr's power moved through him into the cleric. The bleeding stopped, but his abilities alone were not enough to close her wounds.

_And the poison... _

He tore open his pack, fumbling for his healer's kit. He could not neutralize it completely, with only the feather moss in his kit, but he could halt the paralysis that would stop her heart. But he had to act fast.

"What can I do?" Khelgar pleaded.

"Get her armor off," the paladin barked. "Tunic, leggings, anywhere you see blood. Do you have any feather moss?"

"Don't even know what it is," Khelgar said. The fool dwarf was unbuckling her armor.

"Cut the straps," Casavir snapped.

"She'll kill me when she wakes up," the dwarf muttered, but he was already getting out his knife.

"She never will if we don't get that venom out of her."

The rest of the party had caught up with them by then, and stood in an anxious circle around him. Elanee knelt on the other side of Kayla, her hands over the cleric's chest.

"No," Casavir stopped the druid from casting the healing spell. "Not yet. The venom must be neutralized before we heal the wounds. Do you have the spell?"

"No," Elanee's denial was a moan. "Kayla always has me prepare summons."

"Antidote? Scroll? Anything?" Casavir shook his head at their unpreparedness. To come to the Sword Mountains so ill equipped was folly.

"She never bothers with potions or scrolls if she can help it," Elanee said. "She's got a healing kit in her pack, as do I."

"Neeshka," the paladin ordered, "get that kit. Elanee, we'll need yours, too. Feather moss?"

"That will draw the venom," the druid agreed.

Khelgar had left Kayla's shirt and smalls, but he could work around them.

_Auril's kiss, she's thin. I could close my hands around her waist. It would not take much spider venom to kill her, she's got a forearm full of it. Take the arm? No, that won't save her. She's lost too much blood already. Damn!_

Elanee had been busy while Casavir contemplated amputation. She'd already packed the cleric's forearm with the wispy gray moss, and had started on her thigh. He seized a handful of the stuff and rubbed it against the gash in her neck, then packed what was left of his own supply into the cut in her sword arm.

_Swords. Why in the nine hells was she going against that thing with a mace? She'd never get enough muscle behind it to punch through that carapace... _

_She was using the mace because you never told her not to. You never told her about sword spiders, you fool. You told Khelgar, though, and the dwarf grew up in these damn mountains. You might have mentioned something to her about deadly, armored spiders with blades for legs and venom that could kill a horse. You could have squeezed it in between the bark-cutter wasps and the bird story. But no, you were too busy playing the guide, trying to make her _like_ you, as if it mattered now. That will change. If she lives, you will be her lieutenant, nothing more. No smiles, no small talk, just do your job, and nobody gets killed._

Elanee was pushing something into his hand. Gauze. He seized it and began to bandage her hurts.

"We'll bind the wounds tonight," the druid said. "That feather moss needs time to work. We can heal the wounds in the morning."

"If the cold does not kill her," Casavir said grimly. "You know the moss will only halt the paralysis. The poison will still slow her heart, and the night's chill will make it worse."

"Yes," Elanee agreed. "We've got to keep her warm. Is there shelter nearby?"

"No," the paladin groaned. "Only the shelter of the ravine below, or the one on the other side of this ridge."

"Is is safe to move her?" Neeshka fretted.

"We've got no choice, Neesh," Khelgar said. "We're wide open up here on this ridge. Orcs will spot us miles off. Can you carry her, paladin? Long things, you humans are. I'd just knock her head against the stones."

"Yes," he replied, sliding his arms under her. She did not weigh much.

Khelgar was behind him, barking orders at the others to gather her gear. The dwarf had her pack and her breastplate, but he only had two hands.

"That looks like a good spot," Khelgar observed, jutting his bearded chin toward a hollow at the base of a cliff. "Only one side to watch. I'll put Grobnar there, and El, Neesh, and I can take positions further out."

"Where shall I stand guard?" the paladin asked.

"You tend her," Khelgar seemed stunned that he should even have to say something so obvious. "And you'll have to bundle. Qara, too, if you can get her to do it."

The dwarf knew his mountain lore. Casavir had been obliged to do that once before, when his patrol rescued a stranded traveler. The man had been caught without shelter in an early spring rain, and was in shock from the cold. Then, as now, they could risk no fire, so Casavir had removed his armor and the man's wet clothing, and wrapped them both in every blanket they carried. He had used his own body's warmth to bring the man back from death. He could do the same for his leader.

Not surprisingly, Qara refused. If Casavir himself wanted a cuddle, she _might_ consent to it, but she was not about to strip down to her chemise and curl up in a blanket with Kayla, and there was no threat Casavir or Khelgar could make that would change her mind.

Neeshka volunteered, saying that the fire of her own demonic blood might help warm her friend. Casavir was impressed that the tiefling would offer such a kindness when the sorceress had refused, especially since it would mean close proximity to a paladin. Perhaps he had given her less credit than she deserved.

Regardless, Khelgar had forbidden it. With Kayla down, they were vulnerable, and he wanted the tiefling's sharp eyes and night vision for their defense. He would exempt only the humans from guard duty, who could not see in the dark anyway.

So Casavir stripped down to shirt and leggings, took Kayla's limp body in his arms, and made a cocoon of their blankets.

_I'm holding a corpse,_ he thought. The other time he had done this, the man had been conscious, though only barely. He had struggled at first, rebelling against what his disoriented mind believed to be another man's embrace, but he was calmed by the paladin's aura, and had fallen into a natural sleep. Not so, Kayla. Her body felt lifeless, though he could feel her flesh beginning to warm where it met his. It was working. She would live.

For many hours, the only sounds in that hollow were the soft whuffle of Qara's breathing and the distant cries of that laughing bird. Kayla breathed still. Casavir held her against his chest, and could feel the nearly imperceptible expansion of her ribcage with every breath, but she made no sound. She was warmer now, though he did not know if her body was recovered enough to maintain that warmth if he released her. Her sleep, at least, felt more like normal sleep. He had never before held a sleeping woman, but he was too weary to be greatly unsettled by it. Instead, her soft presence in the circle of his arms was soothing.

Casavir was a fighting man, a soldier, and there had been little tenderness in his life. His calling made him compassionate, but it was an impersonal sentiment, directed at the injustices people endured rather than the people themselves. Now, as he clutched this vulnerable human being to his chest, he remembered what it was to care for a person, not ideals. When she woke, he would do his duty by her. He would be cold, if necessary, to maintain the detachment he needed to fulfill his obligation. But now, while she slept, he could be Casavir, the man, and treasure the simple, pure contentment of being close to another soul. He savored the peace that filled his own, and closed his eyes.

"Do you think she'll make it?" Neeshka asked. She had joined Khelgar at his watch position a candle before, and the dwarf had not had the heart to send her away. Besides, her chatter kept him from thinking too much.

"Aye," Khelgar replied with more confidence than he felt. No sense both of them feeling like that. Besides, Elanee said she'd live, and the druid knew her roots and berries.

"It's cold," the tiefling complained. He passed her his flask.

"Take the chill off," he grunted.

"Shouldn't we go check on her?" she fretted.

"The paladin's there," he said. "He'll look after her."

"So, what do you think of him?" Neeshka asked. "Can we trust him?"

"Who doesn't trust a paladin?" Khelgar was baffled by that. "He's good at what he does, and he doesn't talk too much. What's not to like?"

"I don't know about that," she snorted. "They're too uptight, and they just don't understand the finer points of property acquisition. But Kayla likes this one."

"There you go," Khelgar said. "Why are we even talking about it, then?"

"Because she _likes_ him," she said. "She gave him her cloak."

He took his flask back.

"Well?" Neeshka asked.

"Stay out of it, Neesh," he warned.

They sat in silence for a quarter candle. Neeshka kicked at the dust.

"Why are we even out here?" she asked. "There's no reason for all of us to be standing watch."

"Could _you_ sleep?" Khelgar asked.

"Well, no, but maybe Elanee might... " the tiefling's voice trailed off.

"Damn," she said. "I hate it when you're right."

Khelgar took another pull from his flask, then passed it back to the tiefling.

"Besides," he said, "you've got good eyes, and I was not lying when I said we needed to be on our guard tonight. With Kayla and the paladin out of action, we're open to the sky."

"So how long are we going to stay out here?" she asked.

"Until Grobnar comes to get us," Khelgar answered.

"Want to play a game of 'I Spy'?" Neeshka asked.

"Oh, all right," Khelgar grunted. "We'd be looking at things, anyway. But if you say 'rock,' you'll have double watches for a tenday."

--

Kayla was warm... too warm. And everything hurt. And something was on top of her... and under her... and behind her. She was trapped. She struggled, but pain exploded behind her leg and in both arms, and the constricting bands around her tightened slightly, then relaxed. She opened her eyes.

A man's arm lay across her... a human arm... and she seemed to be using another one for a pillow. The warmth behind her must be a man. With only one human male in the party, it could only be Casavir. Had she _lain_ with him? And why did she hurt so much?

That, at least, she could do something about, but she couldn't cast spells pinned like this.

"Casavir?" she ventured. He woke with a jolt.

"My lady..." he startled. She could not see his face, but he heard the surprise in his voice. Then he calmed. He, at least, remembered why she was here.

"Can I get up?" she asked him.

"No, my lady," he answered, "not until we've healed your injuries."

"I can do it myself if you'd just get these blankets off me," she protested.

"Certainly," he said, and started to unwind the blankets that had been wrapped around them.

"Casavir?" she asked. "Why am I in your bedroll?"

"You were injured, my lady," he answered calmly, "and poisoned. We were able to neutralize the worst of the poison, but we were unable to completely counteract it. We feared the night chill would kill you, and we could not risk a fire. I apologize if my proximity bothered you, but I assure that no impropriety was intended."

"No, Casavir, I understand," she shivered violently as he threw off the last of the blankets.

She tried to move, but once again, her injuries prevented it.

"I can't," she blushed at her own incapacity. "I can't cast if I can't move my arms."

"I can help you," the paladin said gravely. He knelt beside her and laid one hand on each of her shoulders. He closed his eyes.

Kayla marveled at the serenity of his face. Is that how looked when Lathander's power moved through her? She hoped so.

It was very different being on the receiving end of divine healing. Or perhaps it was only that the energy that filled her was not that of her own god. She still felt as if she were filled with light, but this was not the rosy light she associated with the Morning Lord, but the pale golden light of Tyr. It still felt right, and her pain receded, but it was an alien presence in her body. She felt the wounds in her arms close, and the great gash in her leg ached a little less. She would need more healing than that, she knew, but it was better.

"Ooh!" Grobnar crooned. He'd been sleeping against a nearby rock. "Are you awake? Are you all right?"

"I'll live," Kayla said, suddenly conscious of her own near nudity. She grabbed the end of a blanket and pulled it over herself. She had spent the night in Casavir's arms clad in nothing but her undergarments. She felt her shame rise in her cheeks.

"Oh! I'm so glad!" he gushed. "We were worried about you, weren't we, Casavir?"

"Indeed," the paladin said solemnly.

"I've got to go tell Khelgar!" the gnome squeaked, and ran off.

Casavir's healing had restored her enough to finish the task herself. When it was done, she scrambled for her clothing, but it was hopeless. It was all cut and bloody, unfit to wear. She pulled on her spare clothes from her pack.

_Much better,_ she thought.

Kayla looked toward the paladin. He'd seated himself near her, but he was not looking at her. He was replacing the straps on her armor. They had been cut.

"Who in the nine hells ruined my armor?" she demanded.

"I ordered it," Casavir replied, not looking at her.

"Why? You know it will take days to get it to fit right again."

"You were bleeding to death," he said, not looking up.

"Oh." Kayla was mortified.

"Who's making all that racket?" Qara demanded petulantly. The sorceress rubbed the sleep for her eyes. "Oh. You're awake."

"So I gathered," Kayla rolled her eyes.

Neeshka was running toward her. The tiefling hugged her tightly, then stood with her hands on her hips, her face set in disapproval.

"Don't you dare do that again!" the tiefling scolded her, then hugged her again. "But you're better now, so let's eat."

Khelgar was right behind the tiefling. He, too, embraced her, and slapped her kidney affectionately.

"Good to have you back," he grunted, then sat himself beside Casavir to help with her armor.

Elanee walked up, Grobnar in tow. The elf beamed at her.

"I see you don't need my help anymore," the druid said, though she looked pleased.

"Thanks anyway, El," Kayla said gratefully, "but Casavir patched me up enough to do it myself. Next time, I'll save it for you."

"Next time, you'd better not get hurt in the first place," the druid smiled.

Casavir raised his head at that.

"Forgive me," he said. "You went into that ravine ill-prepared, and I am responsible. I will remedy that now. This area is home to a number of sword spiders. Their armor is tough, and they are swift. Unless your strength is greater than mine, you will never be able to put mace or club through their shells. You need heavy, sharp weapons to cleave it, axes, greatswords, halberds. You might also use more slender blades such as rapiers, or crossbow bolts to puncture it. If we encounter more, and it is likely, arm yourself with sword or an axe, or with a crossbow, if you must. Spells are also effective, flame-strike, fireball, and the like, or summoned beasts. A pity there is no time to brew antidotes."

"I've prepared a few Neutralize poison spells," Elanee said. "If last night has taught me anything, it's that it makes good sense to have a backup plan."

Casasvir nodded grimly, then returned to mending Kayla's armor.

Kayla sat down beside him.

Her thoughts were a jumbled. She had spent the night in his arms, and had not even known it. She wished she remembered what it felt like, lying beside him. She wished her pain had not been so great, or she would have had a chance to appreciate it when she woke. But that was the reason he was holding her in the first place. Still, she could look at him now, crouched over her armor, and picture him lying in the blankets again, cradling her own body in his arms, his cheek against her hair. It was a happy thought, but it did not last long.

She had done badly the day before. Casavir and Khelgar had killed seven sword spiders between them, and she had gotten in but a single good shot. And he'd had to rescue her... again.

"I wanted to thank you for everything you did," Kayla said. "That's twice you've saved me."

"Do not trouble yourself," he said calmly, still riveting new leather straps to her cuisses. "Your vambraces are ruined, I fear."

"I'll have to do without," she shrugged. "At least until I can have them mended."

"No need," Khelgar said, putting down her harness and rooting through his pack. "I've got some boiled leather in here. We can mend them with that. Not as good as steel, but it's better than skin. Pass me the leather knife, Cas."

So now Casavir was "Cas" to Khelgar. He'd given them all nicknames, apart from Qara. Elanee was "El" or "tree-hugger," Neeshka was "Neesh," when he didn't just call her "tiefling," most of his epithets for Grobnar were obscene, and Kayla herself was usually "lass." The paladin was one of them now, according to Khelgar. She could smile at that.

Kayla was dismayed to learn that her injury had cost them a day. Casavir wanted to arrive at the entrance to Logram's lair in the early afternoon, when the orcs would be at their worst, but that was now impossible, for today, anyway. Kayla deferred to his judgment. If Issani was alive, one more day would not kill him, but they needed every advantage they could get.

"You said something about barricades," Kayla reflected, falling in step with Casavir once again. "Won't Logram wonder why his scouts aren't returning?"

"Unlikely," Casavir said. "My men have killed his scouts before. He will attribute their absence to the work of my people."

He fell silent again. He did not speak for the rest of the day, unless it was to advise her of some danger of the trail or to request a halt to allow the slower members of her company the chance to catch up.

The paladin seemed colder now, more distant. Kayla wondered at it, but she could not bring herself to ask him about the reasons for this second, unwelcome change. He still replied politely to her questions, and he still showed her every deference, but something had changed.

Did he resent her ignorance? No, he knew she had no way of knowing about the spiders. He must abhor her weakness... no, that was not it, either. He had told her freely enough of his own illness, when he'd drunk the poisoned water. No, it was simpler, and far worse. He was a paladin, drawn to pure, noble things. Kayla was neither. She had been too unguarded, and had told him of her humble upbringing... and suggested enough of her antics with Bevil to disabuse him of any illusions he might have had about her innocence.

He'd laughed at her. At the time, she thought he was amused by the simple pastimes of her home, but his station was greater than hers. He might be entertained by a farm girl who kissed a militiaman under a harvest moon, or worse, but he could never befriend her.

Daeghun had excused Bevil's cowardice by saying that he was made for simpler things. So, too, was Kayla. Casavir of Tyr, a paladin and a gentleman, did not desire her friendship.

The chill of that thought was worse than spider venom.


	12. Winning the Door

_Disclaimer: As with every other chapter, even when I forget to include the disclaimer, Obsidian owns all characters but Kayla. The dialogue in this chapter is split, some OC, most invented, all with liberties taken._

"My lady, may I have a word with you?" Casavir asked quietly. Kayla stepped toward the paladin eagerly. He had not addressed her directly since her injury. He had been unfailingly polite to her, but any trace of his earlier friendliness was gone.

Since yesterday afternoon, he had not permitted any unnecessary noise, so he stood close to her... so close in fact that he was obliged to bend to whisper into her ear. The disparity between the intimacy of his position and the coolness of his speech was jarring.

"The time has come for you to make a decision," he whispered. "From here, we can approach Logram's lair from the hills or we may take the path."

He lowered his head further so that she might speak into his ear. His cheek was mere inches from her lips, as it had been two days before, but this time, she refrained from kissing it. He would not appreciate it.

"Which do you favor?" she asked.

He looked at her for a few moments. Kayla could only suppose he was weighing the options.

"The path," he breathed into her hair. "On it, we risk ambush, but I know the likeliest spots, and we may scout them, first. The uneven ground of the hills would slow us, and the danger of encountering more sword spiders is greater. We have been lucky so far to have met no others, but off the trail, the risk rises. We are visible on the trail, but all places will be watched. If we are forced to fight, at least the road will give us open space to do it."

Once again, he brought his ear to her face, waiting for her answer.

"I concur," Kayla answered, as if she knew what she was talking about. Casavir knew these lands. She would follow his lead.

He touched her pauldron in silent acknowledgment, then walked back up the column of the company, giving instruction. They went in single file now, with Casavir in the lead, then Kayla, then Neeshka, Qara, Elanee, and Grobnar. Khelgar brought up the rear.

Suddenly, he halted, then raised his closed fist in a signal to halt. Once more, he bent to speak into her ear.

"I heard something ahead," he informed her, "orc voices, and a rumbling... a wagon, perhaps. What are your orders?"

"Send Neeshka on ahead," she said. "She can hide herself, and report back."

He nodded, then went to the tiefling to relay the orders. If he stood a little further away from Neeshka than he did from her, she could understand it. The paladin's aura made Neeshka uncomfortable.

Kayla saw Neeshka nod.

Neeshka's ability to go unseen and unheard always surprised Kayla, even though she knew where to look. If she concentrated, she could see the rogue against the rocky slope, but as soon as she stopped concentrating, Neeshka disappeared, fading into the background. It was only with the greatest difficulty that she was able to find her again, and by that time, the rogue was nearing the bend in the trail.

A few moments later, Neeshka reappeared, practically on top of her. Kayla jumped, gasping. Casavir stepped close so that he, too, might hear Neeshka's report.

"It's Issani!" the tiefling hissed. "He's got a wagon and eight orcs, two archers, one shaman, and the rest with axes. They're coming this way. Five minutes, at most."

"Thanks, Neesh," Kayla whispered, then turned to Casavir. "We can't get out of this."

Casavir did not even bother confirming his orders with Kayla, but she did not object.

"Neeshka, get up the hill, halfway. I'll put Grobnar up there, too, and Qara, but not grouped together. Elanee does best left to her own devices. Are you up to this?" the last was directed at Kayla.

"Orcs are soft," Kayla shrugged, hefting her mace. For one fleeting moment, Casavir's face split in a grin, but the moment was gone. He went up the column, giving his orders. He and Khelgar returned, then, taking positions in front of her. He pulled on his helmet and readied his shield.

By now, even Kayla could hear the sounds of the approaching wagon.

Casavir turned to look at her, all but his eyes hidden by his helmet. He nodded once, then turned back, raising his hammer.

They caught the false Issani's party by surprise, though neither orcs nor betrayer took long to recover.

"Neverwinter fools," the impostor said as soon as he recognized Kayla. "How is it that you are _all_ so gullible? You cannot imagine that I would let you through to reach the real Issani, not when I went to so much trouble to capture him in the first place! Orcs! Kill them! And bring me their corpses. Even dead, they may be of some use to me."

Light flared from his hands. Fire crackled around her, singeing her gambeson, but she was unhurt. She thrust out her own hand, the words of her spell ringing in the air. A column of flame sprang skyward from the ground, searing the false Issani. He screamed, but he lived.

This time, she did not pause to admire the paladin's skill, but attacked the nearest orc. She caught it in the gut, but the warrior was too tough to go down that easily. He swung with his axe, but it glanced off her shield. He swung again before Kayla was able to bring her mace to bear, but it went wide... too wide. Off balance, he was unprepared for Kayla's next blow. It landed against the side of his unarmored head with a resounding crack. For a moment, the orc stood staring at Kayla, stunned disbelief on his brutish face. Kayla blinked. For that one moment, her opponent was not an incarnation of mindless evil. He was a living creature, and he was dying. He fell and lay still, his surprised face staring up at the afternoon sky.

She had no more time to think about the orc. False-Issani's hands were raised, and Khelgar was motionless. He was not dead... he just did not move. He stood still, frozen in the act of swinging his axe. He was Held. Kayla ran to him, hitting the orc he'd been fighting in the back of the head with her mace. The orc staggered, and spun to face her instead. She had to make it quick. False-Issani was still very much a threat.

It took Kayla an infuriatingly long time to kill that orc, long enough for False-Issani's spell to wear off, but she did it, just as Khelgar's interrupted blow whiffed harmlessly over the dead orc's lifeless body.

"That one still counts as mine!" the dwarf bellowed, but he winked at Kayla.

Together, they faced False-Issani, but they were too late. The traitor lay dead, with one of Neeshka's arrows in his neck.

Casavir was returning to them, pulling off his helmet as he walked. Kayla took her only wound of the battle in that moment. His aura washed over her just as he raised his eyes to hers. Her breath caught once more at the radiance of the man. It was not only the comeliness of the mortal world, though he had that, too, but the undefinable, ethereal _something_, the mark of his god upon him, that stunned her. In Casavir's manly face, she beheld the divine. She turned away.

"Are you well, my lady?" he asked, his voice concerned.

"I'm not hurt," Kayla answered, hoping he would ignore the quaver in her voice.

"And you, Khelgar?" the paladin asked.

"Hmf," the dwarf muttered dismissively. "Like even one of these bastards had a chance against the wrath of a true Ironfist."

Kayla let that pass.

Casavir had taken a cut to his neck. Kayla felt faint when she saw it. From it's placement, the blow could have taken his head off.

"It is nothing, my lady," Casavir assured her. "The gorget took most of it. This is no more than a love-bite from my own armor."

It was, she saw. The line was narrow, true, but Kayla now saw that it was a bruise, not a cut, a welling of blood under the skin where it had been pinched. It likely hurt, but it was not the brush with death that she had first feared.

Elanee had taken a crossbow bolt to the flank. She had polymorphed into a bear for the battle, and still wore that shape. She could not cast herself while polymorphed, but she was always easier to treat as a bear. Elanee stood patiently while Kayla removed the bolt, then nuzzled her affectionately as the healing spell ended.

"You're welcome," Kayla said. Elanee would not change back again unless she needed to do so. She was just as silent in this shape, if it even mattered, after the din of the battle, and she could keep up just as effortlessly as a bear.

Grobnar, Neeshka, and Qara were unhurt. The two archers spent a few moments retrieving any arrows they could salvage... and picking over the bodies of the fallen.

Casavir had protested that.

"What if one of them has some secret message?" Neeshka asked sweetly. "You wouldn't want to miss out on enemy intelligence simply because you forgot to check the belt pouches, now, would you?"

"Have you found any so far?" the paladin asked skeptically.

"Well, not today, maybe," the tiefling admitted, "but I've found plenty before, let me tell you."

The paladin looked to Kayla for confirmation. She nodded truthfully. Neeshka had found valuable documents on the bodies of the slain before... and as for the trinkets, they were her primary source of income.

Kayla paused when she came to the body of the first orc she had slain. His eyes had not yet begun to cloud in death. She had killed before, even humans, on occasion, but this was the first time she really thought about it. The day before, this orc might have been sitting in Logram's greathall, harmlessly weaving a basket. He might have bounced a baby orc on his knee, or tended his elderly grandmother.

_Or he might have pulled every sliver of skin from the real Issani's still-living body,_ Kayla reminded herself.

"We kill because we must." Casavir's resonant voice was beside her. She turned to look at him. There was sympathy in his eyes. "You are right to take no joy in it, but do not torment yourself for doing your duty. He would have killed you, if he could."

The paladin turned, as if he would walk away, but then stopped. He took one of her hands in each of his and gazed fearlessly into her eyes.

"Our gods alone judge us, Kayla of Lathander," he said, the first time he had spoken her name. "Do not shoulder that burden yourself, nor seek to weigh the guilt or innocence of those you are forced to slay. No man may know the will of the gods in all things."

He dropped her hands then, and walked away. Kayla stared after him, though for once, no impure thoughts marred her gratitude.

She was forced to run after him a moment later, however. The battle had not taken long, but it had taken time nonetheless, and it was already mid-morning.

"Will we reach Logram's lair today?" she asked him, when she finally caught him. Her companions did not complain of cold rations, but Kayla worried that the sparseness of their diet over the last three days might start to tell soon. She herself could weather lean times. She did not have a very large frame to support. But Khelgar carried a lot of muscle, and Casavir himself was a tall, strong man.

"We are not three miles distant," he answered. "We will reach it today."

* * *

Casavir's heart sank as he surveyed the outer defenses. Three sword spiders, three archers. One of the sword spiders was massive, easily the largest he had ever seen. Its carapace was ten feet across, and its legspan must have been twenty. It was the mother of all sword spiders.

They still had no antidotes.

He crept back down the hill on elbows and knees, then stood as he rejoined his companions. He briefed them all on his findings, then set about forming a plan of attack.

"How close do you have to be to cast a fireball, Qara?" he asked.

"Thirty yards, maybe," the sorceress answered. "I don't usually try for range."

"Today you do," the paladin replied. "I want you to stand on that hilltop and hit that big spider with everything you've got, from the moment you first see it. Khelgar and I will charge it, to keep it away from you. Don't worry about us..."

_Not that you would, anyway..._

"... just keep hitting it. Elanee, can you give us some fire resistance, just in case?"

"Certainly," the elf replied.

"Good," he said. "Direct your summons to the other two spiders, but don't polymorph yourself unless you have no other choice. Khelgar and I might need those Neutralize Poisons you prepared. Entangle, too, on the spiders. They are fast, and if you can immobilize them, our chances improve."

The paladin turned to Grobnar.

"Regeneration, Grobnar," he said. "We'll be soaking up some heavy damage out there, so we'll need all the help we can get. Can you do anything else while you sing?"

"I can fire a bow..." the gnome said hesitantly.

"But?" the paladin prompted.

"I'm not a very good shot," the gnome moaned.

"Do your best," Casavir said, "but do not allow it to become a distraction. We'll have Neeshka for missile support as well, and Qara, if she runs out of spells before we win the door. Grobnar, Neeshka, I need you to take out those archers as soon as you can. No word of our coming may reach Logram's ears."

He turned to his leader.

"Stay back," he said. "Do not engage the spiders. If one of us signals, be ready with a Neutralize Poison, but we'll need your healing spells when it ends. What offensive spells have you prepared?"

"Flame Strike," Kayla answered. "And I have some summons, too, and Hammer of the Gods."

"Good. Use the Hammer first, while they are all grouped together. Once they start to spread out, hit them with your Flame Strikes. Use your summons, if you must, but only after your Flame Strikes are spent. We might need you to convert those summons to healing spells. Have you any missile weapons yourself?"

"Acid bullets," the cleric answered.

"Use them if you run out of spells," he directed. "Stay out of the fighting. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Casavir," she said meekly.

"We'll be burning all we've got to win the door," he said, "but we'll be able to rest after that. Logram will not change the guard until sundown, and that is still nearly nine candles away. I've some Sanctuary spells, and Prayer. I will not be able to cast while fighting, but when it ends, I can ensure we are not disturbed by any new dangers while resting."

He looked at Kayla again, praying that the cleric would not rebel against his orders to stay out of it.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Do it," she said.

* * *

It had gone well, Casavir thought, very, very well. From Qara's first fireball, everything had gone according to plan.

_Better than that,_ the paladin allowed. He had taken very little damage himself, and had only required one Neutralize Poison to remain standing. The largest sword spider was mostly dead before he and Khelgar ever reached it, and Elanee's summons had taken out one of the remaining two. Kayla's Flame Strike had finished the other.

Kayla... he had feared for her, though perhaps he should not. The dead orc had unsettled her, he knew, yet she had recovered. He knew how hard it was, to hold the power of death. The idiom included life, as well, though he always omitted it.

He felt more peaceful, now that he had resigned himself to his role. He was the advisor, and the defender, if necessary. He could do that. It was an honorable charge.

Casavir thought about his own role in the battle. He had laid the plans without ever consulting his leader. She had been gracious in allowing it, but he must remember that he was no longer the commander. He might not order Kayla's men as if they were his own. Yet she had allowed it. Perhaps he should speak with her. It was always possible that she wanted him to take that part.

_And it is also possible that you will use any excuse to speak with her,_ he reminded himself. Her features were mobile. She could not think something, could not feel something, without her face betraying it, and she thought much. For a man like him, who could only watch life, such animation was thrilling.

He was an outsider, looking in at the lives of others. It had always been that way. His calling set him apart, he knew. No matter where his steps would take him, he would always have The Duty. The nature of The Duty changed, as his situation, and the needs of others, did, but he would always have obligations. But more than that, it was his nature. Even before he left his Order in body, he was never really a part of it. There was something missing, some lack in him, that held him back. When he left, he did not feel the heart-rending pain of separation, only the vague disappointment at himself that he had failed to live up to the expectations of others. He felt shame, perhaps, but he did not feel like he gave up part of himself in leaving. He had never really belonged.

But he did love to watch. He could watch farmers working their fields and sense their satisfaction and honest fatigue. He saw fathers, laughing with their children, tossing them into the air and catching them in their arms, and he sensed their pride, their joy at fatherhood. And if he beheld the washerwomen at the stream scrubbing linen until their hands bled, his heart broke at their poverty, but he admired their strength. He had seen the full range of human experience, but felt precious little of it.

That was why he could not take his eyes off his leader, he told himself. She felt everything, and her features mirrored her heart.

_But you did feel something,_ his memory supplied. _When you held her, when her life was returning to her, you felt contentment. You forgot even The Duty, and you slept while you should have been wakeful. She would never have caught you at it, had you been true to your obligations. You swore it would not happen again._

But it had, barely a day later. He had almost laughed at her jest over the softness of orc flesh. And he had sought to comfort her, when he saw that her conscience troubled her.

No, the latter, at least, was allowed. There was nothing in his vows that forbade compassion. Indeed, they compelled it. He could console her and stay true to The Duty.

And he would have to speak to her about his concerns over his own officiousness.

They had time. If they waited until sundown, they would take out a few more of Logram's orcs, and they would enter the lair with their spells and their bodies fresh. In the meantime, he could speak with his leader... as long as he was quiet.

They had hidden themselves among the rocks while they waited, but he remembered where his leader crouched.

_Of course you remembered. You never take your eyes off her._

She looked at him curiously as he seated himself beside her. Sound carried in these hills, and he did not want to betray their presence too soon, so he had positioned himself close... too close. His shoulder touched hers.

"My lady," he began, very quietly, " In the last two battles... three... I have assumed command where I had no right."

She blinked at him in surprise.

"Are you really apologizing for winning me my last three battles?" she asked incredulously.

"No, my lady," he denied, "I am apologizing for usurping command."

"Don't, please," she insisted. "We all have our talents, Cas... Casavir, and none of mine involve strategy. I do have weapons training, though!"

The paladin almost laughed at the eagerness of her assertion. She might well feel the need to reassure him on that, if she was self-conscious about her performance with the sword spider, but it was unnecessary. Casavir had no doubts of her skill, only her physical strength. No matter how swift she was, and she was fast, there was no substitute for muscle bulk when it came to striking power. A pity she favored the mace. Surely, there was some weapon she could use that would better utilize her agility. Any weapon, really. The mace was a strong man's tool. In the hands of this whip-thin girl... well, she might as well just throw rocks. Perhaps she would allow him to train her with a rapier? He was no expert, but he knew the rudiments of it, and it was a weapon much better suited to her frame.

Guiltily, he realized that they had never finished the conversation. Indeed, she had made a comment that required some response, and he had not yet made any. He only hoped his delay might not be interpreted as insincerity.

"I do not doubt your skill," he answered truthfully. "I saw you fight the orcs when we met. I confess that I do wonder if some other weapon might suit you better, but that can wait until we have the leisure to train. For now, I wanted to learn your will regarding my role in your company. Should you desire it, I will leave matters of strategy to you."

"No, Casavir," she said quickly. "I want you to handle that part. You're better at it than I am, and I trust your judgment."

She did, he saw. Her face showed her confidence in him. For a moment, something stirred in his heart, but it was an ugly little thing. It was vanity, he knew, and he killed it as soon as he became aware of it. If she trusted him, he could be glad of it, but she did not praise _him_, only the result of his tutors' labors. If his battle-tactics were sound, he had only his teachers to thank for it.

He would have one more chance to prove it before they entered the lair. He had decided to wait until sundown to take out the next watch rotation as well, and the sun was lowering in the sky. He'd a half-candle, perhaps, but this would be no epic battle. It would be three or four orcs, no more, and they would enter an ambush. Neeshka could backstab one, at least, he and Khelgar could take out one apiece, and Kayla and Elanee could handle the fourth, if there was one. As far as the sentries knew, the spiders were still in position, so there would be no need to send a larger force. By the time they realized their error, they would be dead.

That, too, went according to plan. The new sentries fell swiftly, dying even before they could cry out. They could enter Logram's lair at will.


	13. The Lady

Casavir idly poked the fire. Would the women never finish their baths? He could forgive them, though. Tyr knew he had no intention of rushing his, when his turn came.

Callum, Khelgar, and Grobnar kept him company... and Katriona. The latter irritated him, but if over a year of active discouragement had not deterred her interest, nothing he could say would do it now. If he could not prevent it, he could still endure it.

He had been anxious about meeting Callum again, and Callum's initial words had done little to reassure him, but it appeared that there, at least, his fears had proved groundless. The dwarf bore him no ill will. It could never be as it was between them, the paladin knew. When they had been as brothers, they both served Neverwinter, and their common purpose formed the backbone of their friendship. But Casavir had abandoned the cause, and Callum had embraced it tighter, even becoming one of the Neverwinter Nine. Under normal circumstances, that would have been the end of any goodwill between them, but Kayla had intervened. Gods, had she defended him! She had actually threatened one of the Neverwinter Nine in his defense, saying that if Callum had business with Casavir, he'd have to go through her first. Callum had laughed at that, and had assured them both that such a thing would not be necessary. Nor had the dwarf questioned Casavir's reasons, either for leaving Neverwinter or for coming to Old Owl Well. Later, Kayla had again promised to protect him, should he have placed himself in danger, in helping her.

Her assurances had amused him. What could she do for him that he could not do for himself? But her loyalty to him moved him greatly. That had always been his part, to defend others, and now, she was taking it for him. For _him_. He could not give his tutors credit for that one.

Their time in Logram's lair had been an awakening. He had seen things that would haunt him, like the reanimation of Qara's former classmates at the will of the Shadow Priest, but he had a new appreciation for the woman that led them.

From the moment they entered the first chamber, and saw the bodies of men... his men... and orcs laid out for some kind of a ritual to their eventual discovery and release of Issani, she had impressed him with the goodness of her soul. She could not look on the dead without wishing them peace, wanting them to receive all the respect that was their due. He did not really expect less from a servant of the Morning Lord, but her simple eloquence had reinforced his good opinion of her.

Her reaction to the dying orcs had come as a pleasant surprise. His faith forbade the destruction of the helpless, even if they had once been enemies. Her faith was not his, but hearing her echo that sentiment... for a moment, he had not felt so alone.

In all, he was well pleased with his leader. She would never make him regret his decision to follow her.

He told himself that he owed her a debt of service for her liberation of Old Owl Well, but in truth, he would follow her because he had nowhere else to go. He had burned his bridges well. He had left his Order, and they would not have him back. He was an Oathbreaker. He could not return to Neverwinter's service directly. He might do so through Kayla, but he could live with that. They no longer needed him here. Katriona had begged him to stay, but that was even more reason to leave.

Within weeks of his arrival in Old Owl Well, he had become aware of her infatuation with him. She was never overt about it, for which he was thankful, but her persistence was unsettling. Casavir could not even say why he had rejected the young ranger's advances. She was pretty enough, certainly, for what _that_ was worth. She had served their cause faithfully... as she had served him. Perhaps that was the problem. He could never tell if her devotion to the cause sprang from her desire of him or the other way around. Either way, he wanted nothing to do with it. It reeked of hero-worship. She did not know him, only the idea of him. To her, he was nothing more than a handful of superlatives. He was a paladin. He was handsome. He was kind-and-gentle-and-all-good-things. She knew nothing of Casavir, the man. That was his doing, he knew, since he had never told her, but she had been content with the facade he presented. Katriona had never asked him awkward questions. She had never asked him anything at all. He could respect her as a sergeant, but he could not respect her as a woman.

Enough of Katriona.

Khelgar and Callum were talking, Casavir realized. They were discussing some Ironfists that had been spotted not far away. Perhaps Kayla would seek them, so that Khelgar could meet with his kin. Casavir thought it very likely that she would. Khelgar wanted it, and Kayla was not a leader who would ignore the wishes of her followers. That, too, pleased him.

_And still, the women bathe,_ Casavir thought irritably. _None of them are large. How much can they possibly have to wash?_

He had no right to be cross with them, he knew. They were all filthy from the road, and weary, besides. With the orcs disbanded, they were free to travel at night, and Kayla had pushed for it. They had won free of Logram's lair the morning before last. The trip there had taken three days and a bit, but their return had taken but two. With fresh provisions from Logram's stores, they had not been obliged to hunt, so they were able to travel late into the evening each night, and set out early each morning. They arrived in Callum's camp around midmorning.

Issani had accompanied them, but Callum would provide an escort from Old Owl Well to Neverwinter himself. Kayla had protested, but Issani would not be delayed any longer, and Kayla and company needed rest, and food, she had insisted. Casavir could hardly argue with that. He had not complained, but there had been more than one occasion where he had been faint with hunger, and if it had been bad for him, how much worse had it been for Khelgar? But the dwarf had borne it, as had he. They had no choice. She had not driven them out of cruelty, but out of necessity, and there was not a man among them, he was sure, that would dare fault her for it... unless it was Qara, though even Qara had not complained more than a little.

After settling affairs with Callum and seeing that her men were fed, her first objective had been to buy new clothing. Casavir had smiled at that, but he understood. Her other set had been ruined in her bout with the sword spider. She intended to bathe, and refused to put dirty clothing on a clean body, so she would have new things, even if they did not fit. Simmy had nothing for a woman as small as Kayla, but she made do. Kayla would wear rags and rejoice that she was clothed.

Callum's camp only had one bathing enclosure, so they had been obliged to take turns. Chivalry demanded that the ladies be allowed to go first, and both Khelgar and Grobnar had agreed to it. Grobnar had amused himself for a while talking to Simmy and playing with her collection of gadgets, but now the gnome sat beside him, picking out jangling tunes on his lute.

Casavir's gaze fell on a coppery strand of hair on his cloak. He plucked it, and amused himself for a moment identifying the owner. It had not been difficult. After all, it had been Kayla's cloak before it was his... and his cheek still burned where her lips had touched it, and his lips... never mind his lips. The hair now, that was something.

He had never seen so many redheads. He was well used to Katriona's reddish-yellow locks, but now, he was surrounded by hair in various flame hues. Khelgar was bald, but his beard grew in the color of his rusty surname. He looked at Kayla's hair again, then released the strand to float away on the breeze. It had been the color of burnished copper, or perhaps a little browner. What color was the tiefling's? She was right there, so he might look. Neeshka's cropped hair was a glossy chestnut, and Elanee's, he saw, the hue of red oak heartwood. Qara's was the brightest however. It rivaled the blossoms of the fire brush. But what had she done to it, with that ridiculous spray of it at the back? Since when was he a scholar of women's hair...

_Wait... you are looking at the women, trying to figure out the color of their hair, yet you still wait for your bath? Get moving, man! The water isn't going to get any warmer._

_-- Khelgar --_

Khelgar had been floored to learn that there were Ironfists near. He would not rest until he had spoken with them... well, maybe he would, but he would find them quick enough, after he'd had a bath and slaked his thirst. Nothing but water for days, and now, ale at his beck and call. He only had to hold out his tankard, and some Greycloak or other rushed to fill it. This was the life! All he needed was that bath.

Where in the nine hells was Casavir going? Even paladins could count to four. But no, the man was walking straight toward the bathing enclosure, unslinging his pack.

"Cas!" he called. "Kayla's still in there."

Too late, he saw. The paladin stood in the doorway, looking for all Toril like he'd been Held.

_Ah, well,_ Khelgar reckoned, _bound to happen sooner or later. None of us have any secrets, here. But where's the fool off to now?_

Casavir was running, though he stopped at the Well, and stood with his hands braced against the stone wall that surrounded it, staring into the depths.

"What was that all about?" Neeshka asked, sitting beside Khelgar and tugging a comb through her short hair.

"Reckon Cas got an eyeful of Kayla in the tub," he chuckled.

"Oh, poor Casavir!" the tiefling giggled. "Do you think he saw anything?"

"Lemme see," Khelgar reflected, "red face... shaking hands... Yeah, I reckon he did."

Neeshka's laugh was downright wicked.

"From the way he's standing," she observed, "I'd say he liked the view."

"Stay out of it, fiendling, and keep your fool eyes on what's proper!" Khelgar wondered why the tiefling couldn't just leave the humans to it. They didn't need their help, and they certainly didn't want it.

"Spoilsport," Neeshka pouted, taking Khelgar's tankard from his hand, gulping a bit, and handing it back.

"Get your own!" Khelgar growled. Damned thief, drinking his ale. He swatted her shoulder, on general principles.

_-- Casavir --_

Casavir gulped air. He willed the coolness of the well to fill his veins, but he was thwarted in it.

Damn his eyes! He had counted, he swore. He had seen the women assembled. He had checked Neeshka's hair color, and Elanee's, and he'd observed that silly pony-tail at the back of Qara's head... and he had seen Kayla's very own hair...

Aye, that was the problem. He had observed Kayla's hair, but he had not observed Kayla. He had contemplated hair, not counted noses. Kayla had worn his cloak before him, so when he found that strand on it, he had called her present, though she was not.

He had... interrupted her bath.

Now that was a singular way of putting it. He had strolled into the enclosure and been... paralyzed.

She had her back to him. Perhaps she had been stepping out of the tub. He could not say. All he knew was that he beheld her from behind. Her shape was before him... all of it.

How, in all nine of the hells, had he ever considered her figure boyish? He was certain that he would never again hear of Sune's bottom without seeing Kayla's. Tyr help him, but he was roused.

She had turned toward him. Perhaps she had heard his footfall, or his gasp. Regardless, he had seen the curve of her cheek as she turned to him... and the outline of one pert breast. He shuddered. She was no festhall dancer with a bosom like two melons, but she might have been a slyph... or a siren, standing in a pool, with the silhouette of one small, shapely... no he could not.

She had seen him. She had turned. She had faced him, and looked upon him. So might a deer look upon a wolf. Her shock... and her fear... had roused him even more than the sight of her body, and he was ashamed. He was no marauder, he knew, yet it had touched something primal in his soul, something barbaric, that knew nothing of his vows, or even of human decency. She had seen him as a man, virile and dangerous, and it had thrilled him.

He stood panting at the Well, he knew not how long, praying for tranquility he could not find. The waters of the Well were not cold enough to still his desire.

He was relieved that even in his madness, he had not contemplated violence. Her acknowledgment of his masculinity had excited him, not the possibility that he might take her. He had responded appropriately. He had fled. Thank Tyr, even in the face of temptation, he was still master of his body, and even of his thoughts.

He needed more control that that if he would speak to her, and he must. He must apologize for the intrusion, and he could not. He simply could not face her now, when all the world could see his arousal. The more he thought about control, the less of it he had. He had only to think of stilling his desire, and the reason for it once more flashed before his eyes. He had to think of something else, something less provocative than his leader's gently rounded backside and firm, high breast...

_Cyric's sword, I'm too old for this,_ his mind wailed. _I've no right to be standing here, pitching a tent in my leggings like some novice who's just noticed that his tutor is not wearing stays. _

Not that Kayla would ever need them. She would never need to force her svelte body into that restrictive garment. Her delicate bosom was too small to require the support...

_Dammit! Think of something else. That water sure looks cold. Why don't you just throw yourself in? You wouldn't have to talk to her again, that way. And what are you so worked up about, anyway? Sharilyn had a better body than that. Why, she had a bosom you could bury your face in, and you've forgotten that readily enough._

_Yes, you moron, and look what happened to Sharilyn. And that fortune-hunter never looked at you like _she_ did, just then. Sharilyn knew what you were, or what she thought you were, and played you for a fool. Kayla doesn't even know the game, and wouldn't play it if she did._

_You're just saying that because you saw her naked. You'd praise Qara, if she flashed you some tit. How long has it been?_

_Shut up! Don't you dare speak of her like that! And you violated her, besides, you lecherous dotard._

_Don't be an idiot. You saw her naked. It just... happened. You did not go there with the intent of spying on her. If you had, you would have Fallen faster than you rose, just now._

_You had this problem as a boy. What had Prior Hlam told you? Think about injustice... think about suffering. Oh, I'm suffering now, all right._

_Stop that. Breathe. Think about something monstrous._

_Sword spiders... rivers of venom dripping off mandibles like daggers... holding that slim body against you, and never even realizing what beauty you held... _

_No. Once more. Count your breaths._

That worked. By forcing himself to concentrate on nothing but the number of times he inhaled and exhaled, he was finally able to regain control. The count was off by more than one between the in and out, but he could ignore that.

And not a moment too soon. She was at his elbow.

_-- Kayla --_

She had been obliged to wait for the others to finish bathing before she could claim a tub for herself. The Greycloak camp only had the three tubs, and there were four of them. After everything her friends had done for her, the least she could do was let them bathe first. She had tried to bathe quickly, out of courtesy for the men that patiently waited their turn, but it had not been easy to relinquish the pleasure of the bath. The cool water felt exquisite, and she had been filthy. She rejoiced in the luxury of being really, truly clean, for the first time since she left Neverwinter. She'd get dirty again, on the road back to the city, but for now, she could enjoy the simple pleasure of clean skin and hair.

But she had taken too long. Neeshka, Elanee and Qara were already gone, and she would have to leave her bath behind and join them.

She had risen from the tub, and heard a gasp.

Casavir. He stood with his pack in his hands. His eyes bulged in horror. He turned and ran.

Of course, the paladin would be offended. The intrusion was unintentional, she was sure, and it was not her fault, but she was sorry for his discomfort, nonetheless. She was positive that the last thing he wanted to see when he was trying to relax after a grueling journey was the sight of his scrawny leader without a stitch of clothing.

So she had dressed herself and gone to him. She had not seen him immediately, but Khelgar had seen her approach and pointed her in the right direction before she even got close enough to ask for the paladin. Did the whole camp know about it already?

Oh well. With only one bathing enclosure, this kind of thing probably happened every day. Well, maybe not to paladins, but he'd live, once he got over the shock.

He had not noticed her approach at first. His face was pointed at the Well, but his eyes were closed, and he looked like he was concentrating on something. Maybe he was praying. Chastity vows or not, it was probably against his religion to see a naked woman who was not his wife.

She left him to it, and only spoke when he turned to her.

"Casavir, I'm sorry," Kayla said softly.

Now, he stared. He blinked a couple of times, then shook his head. Kayla just waited.

"It is I who should apologize, my lady," he said at last. "I had not realized that you still bathed."

"No, I know," she'd giggle about this later, perhaps, but for now, he still looked too upset for her to laugh at his discomposure. "And it's all right, Casavir. It was an accident."

"Yes," he agreed. "Perhaps Callum should put a sign outside the enclosure to indicate when it is in use."

"That would never work," Kayla disagreed, relieved to see he was recovering. "People would just forget to change the sign back again, or change it when they left, forgetting that others still used it."

"You could be right," the paladin admitted.

"Should we rejoin the others?" Kayla asked. Her stomach was reminding her that it was nearing dinnertime.

"No," he replied. "I have not yet bathed, and now that you are out, the bath is free."

_-- Khelgar --_

Damn these long-shanks and their soft ways, but it was good to be clean. And nothing like a nice soak to take the weariness off. Khelgar could even tolerate Nobby's bath songs, and Clangeddin knew he had little enough patience for that rot at other times.

But the gnome had stopped singing, for once. What was he up to, that made him so quiet?

Khelgar put down his washcloth and looked at Grobnar. The gnome was staring at Casavir.

The paladin had joined them late. Only natural, Khelgar supposed. He was probably a bit rattled at seeing Kayla in her all-together. Paladins worried about that kind of thing. Well, it was probably more of a human thing. Dwarves did not fuss over bare skin.

_No, that isn't true,_ Khelgar had to admit. _Why, that time you saw Dorna Hammerforger, you were off your stroke for a week. But there was a woman! Shoulders like two boulders, and a beard soft as lambs' wool. She never liked you much, though, did she?_

Khelgar could not say he blamed her. He had been a right ass, at seventy, leering at the girls, and still too green to know what to do if they returned his interest.

The paladin was not even half that, if Khelgar was any judge of humans. Though he could not imagine what the man could see in a woman who did not even have to shave, he could forgive him for being a bit sheep-eyed over a girl he fancied. And Kayla was a good girl, even if she would be blown over by a strong wind. A foot and a half shorter and eighty pounds heavier, and Khelgar himself might have been prepared to give the paladin some competition.

_Nah,_ he admitted, _that girl's too dainty for the likes of me, even if she did wake up a dwarf one day, and far, far too young. Her heart is in the right place, but she's got no real appreciation for a good fist-fight, and gold might as well be tin, to her. Better save her for the paladin. He won't care if she's got arms like blades of grass._

But was Casavir good enough for his little Kayla? Maybe, but he'd have to get that stick out of his butt first. He'd treated her well enough at first, and Khelgar could not fault his care of her when she got hurt, but the paladin had been too cold to her the last few days for his comfort. That would have to change, or Khelgar would have to talk some sense into the lad.

_And still, the gnome stares. What in the nine hells is he looking at, anyway? Humans are scrawny things, but gnomes aren't much better._

Khelgar looked in the direction of Grobnar's gaze.

_Moradin's hammer! No wonder Nobby's staring. Gah! And now I'm doing it! Look away, fool! It isn't proper, staring at a man like that. I'm getting as bad as the tiefling. _

"Hey, Nobby!" Khelgar called to the gnome. "All this water has given me quite a thirst. Get an ale for me, would you, if you're done with your bath. Want one, Cas?"

"Yes," the paladin answered, still staring at something Khelgar couldn't see. His voice was wooden. Khelgar doubted he even knew that he was half out of the water.

"Say, Cas," he ventured, "do you want axle with your faerie dragon?"

"Yes," he answered in the same flat voice.

Khelgar rolled his eyes. Rattled, nothing. That boy was unhinged.

The dwarf threw his washcloth at the paladin. It slapped wetly against his face, and fell into the water with a splash. Casavir startled.

"I apologize, Khelgar," the man said, the color rising in his face. "Did you say something?"

"Shake it off, man," Khelgar rumbled. "It's a long way back to Neverwinter, and you'll never make it all that way with your brain in your balls."

The paladin reddened, and attacked his body with the washcloth.

They'd sort it out sooner or later, Khelgar reckoned. Kayla had sense, even if Casavir did not.

Grobnar was back with their drinks. Khelgar leaned back in the tub, slurping his ale, waiting for the paladin to dry off and dress before getting out of the tub himself. There was no rush. Khelgar might as well enjoy the cool water and the ale as long as possible.

_--Casavir --_

"Of course we'll find your Ironfists!" Casavir heard Kayla say. "From what Callum says, it's practically on our way home."

"Thanks, Kayla," the dwarf rumbled. "It will do my heart good to see my kin again. I'm not going to walk out on you now, of course, but sooner or later, I'm going to want to settle down, and it'll be good to have a home to go back to."

"You, settle down?" Neeshka snorted. "That'll be the day! I can just see you now, with a long gray beard and a dozen hairy grandchildren."

"And why not?" Khelgar protested. "That'll be the life, with an ale in my hand and a comely dwarven lass at my side, raising a pack of little Ironfists."

"'Comely dwarven lass'?" Qara retorted. "Now there's a contradiction!"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Khelgar objected. "Nothing finer than a good, solid woman with thighs like two haybales and biceps that could crack walnuts."

"And boobs that get lost in her chest muscles?" the sorceress sounded unconvinced. "No thank you!"

"Not everybody wants to look at udders like yours, Qara," Neeshka said.

The nightly argument was begun.

Casavir could listen no more. From the mention of the word "thighs," he was back in the bathing enclosure, reflecting on the exquisite delicacy of Kayla's body. He tried to calm himself, counting his breaths, counting the number of times he lifted his spoon or his tankard, but with them still talking about dwarven body parts, he was powerless to stop himself from thinking about his leader's. Out here in the open, there was no way to discretely hide the bulge that was growing in his leggings.

Slowly, very deliberately, he set his plate down, took off his cloak, draped it over his forearm, and stood up. Not trusting himself to speak, he walked away without a word.

He went to his tent and stretched out on his bedroll, willing his desire to subside. Here, he might count breaths or anything else he chose without hearing anything that might upset him.

And he was upset, and not only at his own very public arousal. If his friendship with Kayla was enough of a distraction to make him fail in his charge, recent developments... he might as well send her off into the hills with spider bait tied around her neck, for all the use he would be to her.

It took him much less time to calm himself, this time. Still, he stared at the canvas roof of the tent. What was he going to do? He could not very well run off and hide every time somebody mentioned anatomy. And he would see Kayla herself every day. He must maintain his detachment to continue in his role. His desire was even more dangerous than friendship would have been.

And they would go on foot, and make that side trip to find the Ironfists. More delays. In Neverwinter, he could go to the Halls of Justice, and seek the counsel of his former Order, if they would hear him, but he would be lucky to cross the Dolphin Bridge inside a tenday.

He could not fail her again. His service to her was now The Duty. He could not allow himself to become close to her, in friendship... or in any other way. How could he prevent it?

"Casavir," it was Kayla's voice, "may I come in?"

If the paladin panicked, he did not do so long. He could not refuse his leader admittance to his tent, or anywhere else she chose to go. At least he was no longer indisposed.

"Yes," he consented, throwing both flaps up on the roof of the tent to open it to the camp. She might enter his tent, but he would not offend her with impropriety.

She held two plates, and handed one to Casavir. She seated herself beside him. He picked up his spoon and stared at it.

"I'm sorry, Casavir," he heard her say. "You know what Qara and Neeshka are like. And it was especially vile this evening, I have to say."

He sighed and put down the spoon. He must confess. She would loathe him for it, but he had no choice. He could not deceive her, not when she trusted him.

"My lady," he began, "my departure had nothing to do with Qara or Neeshka. I was... thinking about... before..."

Now what? He intended to confess, but now he did not know how.

"Oh," Kayla sighed. "That."

She put her plate down and turned to him.

"Casavir," she said, "I'm sorry that upset you so much, but it was bound to happen sometime. We all walk in on each other sooner or later. Before we left the Sunken Flagon, I accidentally walked in on Khelgar when he was taking a bath, and if the sight of a naked dwarf isn't enough to put you off your feed, I don't know what is."

Ilmater's blood, does she think I was repulsed by her? That the sight was enough to take away my appetite?

Not knowing what else to do, he started eating. She smiled grimly. He had offended her further, though he could not imagine how. He set his own plate beside him on the blanket and faced her fully.

"My lady..." he began again.

"Why do you call me that?" she asked.

"What?" he blinked.

"You always say 'my lady'."

"You are," he was baffled.

"I'm no lady," Kayla disagreed, then stopped herself. Even in the light that filtered through the canvas, he could see her blush. "Not like you mean it, anyway. I'm a farm girl from the swamp..."

He stared at her. She was gentle. She was compassionate and honest. She had every conceivable grace. If the word "lady" could be used to describe a woman of virtue with a kind, noble spirit, he might certainly apply it to Kayla of Lathander with perfect honesty.

"You are mistaken," he said at last. "You are a lady _precisely_ how I mean it."

Suddenly, he had a new weapon against distraction. His respect for her reminded him that he was sworn to protect the dignity of others. Defending the virtuous was a sacred part of his obligation, and one he had always relished. Was that not why he had come to Old Owl Well in the first place, to make it safe for the deserving?

_Part of the reason, anyway..._

Still, he needed to objectify her in some way if he was to be of any use to her. If she was The Lady to him, he might even ignore momentary remembrances of her nudity. After all, Sune herself was often depicted without attire, and he did not lie awake at night dreaming of her. When Kayla was The Lady, he could serve her and maintain his composure. It was honorable, and it was just.

And she need never know what had disturbed him moments before. He picked up his plate again.

"Your dinner grows cold, my lady," he said.

She took her plate in her hands, but looked at him quizically.

"Are you all right?" she asked. "I mean..."

"I am well," he muttered around a mouthful of stew, then swallowed. " You have troubled yourself enough over my comfort for one day."

"It's no trouble," she said. "We all have to be comfortable with each other if we're going to make it."

"Indeed," he agreed. "Would you prefer to eat here, or rejoin the others?"

"I'm here," she said, "and our food is getting cold. We can go back when we're done."

Casavir was content. They talked as they ate, but the subjects did not trouble him. They spoke of Khelgar's Ironfists, and her plans to go back to Neverwinter. She had asked him if he was comfortable going back to the city he had left, but he was, so that was the end of that.

He was enjoying himself, he admitted. It was good to be part of a fighting force, he thought, and better that he did not lead it. He trusted The Lady to do what was right. For once, he did not bear the burden of leadership, and he was finding it a welcome change.

They did not go back to the fire after the meal, but stayed in his tent, talking about the trip and about Neverwinter, until it grew dark. She told him of the Sunken Flagon, and of Cormick and the Watch, and he found himself recommending shops to her, and telling her of his own favorite haunts in the city.

It had grown very dark. The light from the firepit did not reach them in Casavir's tent, though he could see the Greycloaks moving around it. Katriona was there still, sitting at the fire. His former sergeant spoke to Neeshka, but her gaze was fixed in the direction of his tent. He was pleased to find that he did not care.

"... And then up pops Callum, and he never did say where he got the trout," Casavir's gesture at the telling of his punch line caught Kayla in the arm. He could no longer see her in the dark.

"I had better go," she said, laughing "before you knock me unconscious."

He laughed, too, and bid her good night. She collected their plates, and ducked out of his tent. He watched her go to the fire and drop the tin plates on the pile the Greycloak was washing, then walk to her own tent. He had not been troubled at all by the sight of her graceful movement.

The paladin lay back on his blankets, giving thanks that the incident had allowed this improvement in their relationship. With the tension between them broken, he need no longer fear that his own body would betray him, nor would either inappropriate, too easy friendship or desire prevent him from serving her.

Casavir was well contented indeed... until he tried to sleep.


	14. A True Ironfist

_Disclaimer: Obsidian owns everybody but Kayla, and much of the dialogue._

Four days, and not a whiskered face in sight. Still, there was time. They were still exploring the area Callum had mentioned. Khelgar couldn't see his people making their home here. It wasn't just that it was barren as the board of a miser's hall. No dwarf worth his beard would care much for fountains or glades if the stone was bad, but that was the problem. The stone here _was_ bad, at least near the surface. Get down thirty, forty feet, things might improve, but up here, it was nothing but crumbling shale and packed grit.

If his people had come here, they would not stay long. Maybe they left already.

It was getting on to sunset again, so time to stop for the night. At least Callum had given them provisions, so they didn't have to waste time hunting. They would run out before they reached Neverwinter, but there was no help for that. Cas, Neesh and Nobby had bows, if it came to that, but he did not like his people wandering off where he could not keep his eyes on them. The gods knew what trouble the tiefling would get up to while his back was turned, and the lass just wasn't easy unless she could see the paladin any time she turned her head.

Khelgar couldn't understand that one. Lala liked to talk and the paladin didn't. He knew from the other day that the man was eager enough to mine that ore, to judge by the shoring timbers he brought along for the job, as his old da would have said, but whenever he opened his mouth, it was "Yes, my lady, this" or "No, my lady, that" or "It's time to train, my lady." Not that Khelgar could fault him for wanting to improve his leader's weapon skills. The girl did all right, but that mace was just too big for her. It slowed her down. He'd told her that himself a dozen times on the road to Highcliff. But if she wouldn't give it up for Khelgar, she wasn't going to put it aside for Cas.

They had tried her on just about everything they carried, between them, those first two days. Kayla could barely lift Khelgar's battle axe, so that was out. The dwarf had not let her try his hammer or war axe. They were dwarf-made, and he would sooner have cut off his beard than let a human at them. Cas' hammer felt wrong to her. Probably a paladin thing. Just as well. It was twice as heavy as her mace.

She'd terrified them all with his greatsword, lurching around with it like some mad thing. She could get the end of it up off the ground all right, but once the downward arc started, it wouldn't stop until it hit the ground again. She'd nearly taken off the paladin's foot. They'd taken it away from her after that, and tried her on Neesh's rapier instead. She was fast enough, all right, but the shield slowed her down. Cas had taken her shield away and tried teaching her to parry with a dagger in her off hand, but that had ended badly... with a couple of healing spells and another ruined tunic, if he remembered correctly. And Cas had been beside himself with guilt over stabbing her.

She'd taken instantly to knife-work, oddly enough. To him, it looked like the pair of them were dancing, circling each other and sometimes lunging in quick for a strike with their wooden daggers. After the rapier incident, Cas would not allow either of them real weapons until Kayla had demonstrated her proficiency, so they practiced with bits of wood coated in chalk. The very first time they'd tried it, Kayla had fought the paladin into a corner.

"Very good, my lady," he'd said, "but you have left yourself open. All I need do is raise my blade like this, and the fight is over."

Lala had smiled then, right up in the paladin's face.

"All you have to do is look down," she'd said. For a good girl, she sure could sound evil. And it was true. The paladin had a stripe of chalk across his belly clear as a belt. If that had been a real knife, he'd have been standing in a pile of his own innards.

Still, Khelgar was not satisfied. A knife was fine as a back-up weapon, but it was useless in a real fight, or against a creature that didn't have its squishy bits close to the skin. The whole idea was to keep the other bastard as far away as possible, but with a knife, you had to practically stand on top of each other. He suspected that was the reason the paladin enjoyed training her with knives so much. Well, that and he seemed to like it when she kicked his ass.

"Listen, Cas," Khelgar began, trying his hand at diplomacy, "you've done fine work with the lass, but I reckon she might have learned enough."

"It is important that she learn to protect herself, Khelgar," the paladin protested.

"And she can!" he'd insisted. "Truth to tell, she's better at knives than you are. She's faster, anyway. Besides, how close do you want her to get to the pointy end of an orc?"

That had shut him up, but it wasn't enough. They couldn't find a good weapon for her, and that bothered the paladin. Khelgar didn't necessarily agree, since she'd done well enough before Cas showed up. She _was_ good with that mace of hers... if only it were a pound or two lighter.

"What's your problem, Khelgar?" the tiefling asked. "You don't like her form?"

"Nah," the dwarf answered, "her form is fine. It's just that the mace is too heavy."

"Give her the strength belt," Neeshka suggested. "You'll never miss it."

"You have a 'strength belt'?" Cas was "all horns," as Neesh would say.

"Yeah," the dwarf admitted. "The lass bought it for me herself, from that Eldario, down in Highcliff. A 'girdle of Frost Giant strength.' Don't mind giving it up for her, but you'll have to cut a few more holes in it."

With the girdle on, Kayla had no trouble at all with the mace. Even Cas was pleased, though he still insisted on sparring with her every break. That was getting old quick. Khelgar knew Casavir meant well, and Kayla was holding up all right, but it was starting to tell on the paladin. He could keep on his pins for quite some time, for a human, but Lala was a Harborman, and tough as they come, even if she didn't weigh more than Khelgar's thigh. Cas would break under the strain a long time before she would. By the end of the third day, the paladin was nodding at the fire before he'd even finished eating, and that fourth morning, he'd staggered a bit after their breaktime sparring session.

"So tell me, Cas," Khelgar said as they were gathering up their gear, "what's the plan if the lass comes up against somebody who isn't a paladin?"

"I do not follow," The paladin even sounded beat.

"She can fight you all right, but can she fight a gnome? Or a dwarf? Or how about a druid? Don't reckon there's any point in setting her against Qara, since there aren't a lot of ways you can block a fireball, but still, it would do the others good to get a little practice in, as well."

"I see your point," he agreed. "We'll rotate the training."

"Good man," Khelgar said, contented. Nice and neat, that way. Everybody gets a turn to get sunburned and overheated.

Sunburn had been a real problem, at first. With the orcs scattered, they no longer marched with their helmets on. Khelgar did not love the sun, but he could bear it. His ruddy skin just got ruddier. The tree-hugger had turned a healthy-looking walnut, and the gnome got a bit tanned, but that was about the end of it. Qara kept her hood up, most of the time, and just as well, because Khelgar hated the sight of her. Lala looked like a freckled lobster, though, and had to stop every so often to cast healing spells on either herself or the paladin. Cas, too, was frying under the sunlight. Khelgar had to laugh at Kayla. Tyr was an indoor kind of god, so perhaps Cas might be excused for having a hide the color of new parchment, but Lala was a Dawnbringer. She wasn't supposed to burst into flame if she stood under the noontime sun for more than five minutes. The tree-hugger had come to the rescue, there. She'd whipped up some foul concoction out of gods-knew-what and handed each of the humans a pot of it. Even Qara took it, which Khelgar cursed, because it meant having to look at her again. A couple smears from the little pots ever few hours, and they were back to their usual pallor. It smelled vile, but it kept the bugs away.

And gods, what bugs they had here! Swarms of flies weren't even the worst of it.

That third night, he'd been sitting with the tiefling, trying to keep her hands out of his belt pouch, and they'd been half-devoured by biting gnats. And the ants... he didn't even want to think about the ants. They'd crawled into his bedroll and bitten him raw. So the fourth day, he'd put on El's salve, too, and enjoyed his first bug-free morning in days.

That druid did have her uses, he had to admit. He might never love her, but he'd been grateful enough that fourth morning to cook breakfast without a scrap of meat, and it wasn't even a veggie day. She'd smiled at him. It had felt... odd. She was an elf. He didn't like elves. And she was a tree-hugger, and wouldn't even touch that nice juicy salmon he'd caught, the day after they left Neverwinter, but when she smiled at him for cooking the barley without bacon, he felt like he'd finally done something right. It was the least he could do, really. It hadn't even tasted that bad, the barley, if he put enough salt in it.

But still, no beer! Damn, but he'd even be willing to share with the fiendling, if he could have a pot of ale to go with his cheese-and-onions, that fourth night. That meal, too, had been meatless, though it was a meat day, and Lala's turn to cook. Still, he could forgive her for humoring the druid. Of them all, Kayla had been most plagued by sunburn. Some cleric of Lathander!

But the beer, now, that was a hardship El's balms couldn't cure. They'd better find his clan soon, or he might die of thirst.

He'd lost the last of his firewhiskey in a bet with the tiefling the night before. Khelgar wondered if he could win it back tonight, but discarded the idea. She was better at "rocks, parchment, shears" than he was, and he'd taught her the damn game.

What the hells. It wasn't as if they had anything better to do on watch. Lala had put an end to his plan of exempting her from watch duty, but he usually put her on first watch, since she'd always be up at first light, anyway. Cas kept her company most nights. He said it was to help her stay awake, but he was always the one falling asleep at it. Now that he'd cut back on his training, though, he might last longer. Some people just didn't understand that you broke your march for a reason. He usually put Nobby on after Kayla, then he'd stand watch himself, then Neesh, though truth to tell, Neesh usually woke up early enough to sit up with him a bit, and if he stayed up after his own shift ended, well, somebody had to keep an eye on the tiefling. Cas took the last watch of the night, usually just as Lala was waking up. If somebody was having an off night, he'd swap him out with Qara or El, but he liked to keep those two out of it. He couldn't trust Qara not to let every orc in the Sword Mountains make off with their gear if it suited her, and he wasn't sure that El wouldn't let a bear ransack their provisions on the off chance it might be another druid.

The tiefling had her thieving ways, but she kept Khelgar on his toes. Besides, she was the only one besides Nobby that he didn't have to crane his neck to talk to. She was barely a thumb's breadth taller than dwarf height. That was strange. Khelgar always thought that demons were supposed to be huge, leathery things with bat wings and flaming breath, but Neesh was a tiny little thing, for someone who was supposed to be half demon. Maybe demons came in more than one size.

Khelgar didn't have much of an imagination, as a rule, but he spared a chuckle over the possible scene of Neeshka's conception. He could just imagine a two foot tall demon standing in front of some human female saying "You will submit!" in a tinny little voice. The woman would have laughed at him and said "But you're only two feet tall!" And the demon would have said "Yeah, and I've only got one leg, to boot. Want to guess what the other one is?" And that might have given Cas some competition, the freak.

But Neesh was all right... if you kept her where you could see her. She wasn't a dwarf, but she was easy enough to look at, if you could ignore the horns. The tail, now, that was fun to watch. It seemed to have a life of its own, lashing out at this and that. He'd been disappointed to learn that she couldn't grab things with it, but then, Neeshka's da had been a cambion, likely as not, and not a monkey. Though the tiefling was a bit of a monkey herself, or a magpie, filching anything shiny. She'd tricked him into letting her guess the number and type of coins in his purse... until he'd learned that she'd pinched the three biggest for herself. Damn thief.

The fifth morning, they hit pay dirt. Neesh had found the traces of it, of all people. She'd called Khelgar over to show him a clumsy looking snare, and he'd found a scrap of cloth in his clan's colors trapped in the knot. It bode ill for his clansmen, but ill news was better than none. His people had been here.

Around midmorning, they stopped for a break. Khelgar had been uneasy about it, but he knew better than to argue with Lala when she used that voice. Qara was falling behind, and the sun was fierce, that morning.

No sparring this morning, at least, the dwarf noticed. They sat on boulders, waiting for the sorceress and the gnome to catch their breath.

"_Tindul wurgyn,_" Khelgar heard a voice say, far away, maybe, but there could be no mistake. That was dwarven.

"Lala!" he jumped up. "They're here! I just heard them. Must be down that slope!"

It did not take them long to find his kin, or to walk right into them, as it happened.

"You're a strange band to be wandering these mountains," a yellow-bearded dwarf was eying Kayla up and down... and Neeshka.

Clangeddin's beard, was that Khulmar? The bastard still owed him five gold.

"Khulmar?" he asked. "I could say the same - what are you doing here, far from Ironfist lands?"

"Not as far you'd _think_ Khelgar," what in the nine hells was that supposed to mean? Ironfists made their home in these mountains, but it was many leagues to the north. "Though I doubt we are here for the same reasons."

"Care to introduce us, Khelgar?" Lala asked.

"This here's Khulmar," he said, "one of the best scouts of the Ironfist clan and good in a fight. Neither one, of course, explains what he's doing here, though."

"It's clan business," Khulmar grunted, "not for outsiders."

"Ah, but Khulmar, these are friends... " Khelgar noticed Khulmar's glare at the tiefling, "well, most of them, anyways. Who's blood is that on your armor? Orc?"

"We are scouting out the old Ironfist clan hold in these mountains," Khelgar's ears perked up at that, "seeing if it can be reopened - or retaken. There are bugbears blocking the way, but they will not do so for long."

"Bugbears?" Khelgar hooted. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's bury them!"

"It's nothing we can't handle, Khelgar," Khulmar protested quickly. "No need to shed the blood of non-clan - and this is an _Ironfist_ matter."

"Nonsense, these all are spoiling for a fight!" the sweep of Khelgar's arm included Kayla and Casavir. Damn it. Why did the fool paladin have to pick right then to yawn? "What say you all - you all want to give the vultures some bugbear corpses to feast on?"

"If they are in need of help, we should do what we can," Khelgar heard Cas say to Kayla. "The more allies we have in these mountains, the better. A dwarven presence in these mountains, especially the Ironfist clan, would also make tactical sense as well. "

Hey, was that respect in Cas' voice? Maybe he wasn't such a bag of grit, after all.

"Yeah, that's great, Casavir," Qara's voice dripped sarcasm, "fight the good fight. Maybe we can carve that on our tombstones - if anyone finds our bodies at all."

Damn sorceress. Like anybody cared what happened to her worthless hide.

"You know," Neesh wheedled, "old dwarven halls tend to have lots of gold and gems, just lying around for the taking."

"Maybe so," Khelgar sputtered, "but nothing _your_ thieving hands will see, fiendling."

Elanee said something about wanting to go home, but Khelgar wasn't paying attention. That little thief...

"Why does one even need to ask?! It sounds like a tale waiting to happen- " Oh, no. Not Grobnar...

"Think of it," Nobby went on, "Grobnar Gnomehands, and the liberation of the Ironfist clan, and all its engineering marvels, a tale for any tavern, for every man, woman, and child!"

"Who is this gnome?" Khulmar asked Khelgar irritably.

"He's arrow bait," Khelgar muttered. "I'll tell you about it later."

"We'll help you," Kayla said firmly.

"We are grateful for the... gesture," Khulmar spat, "but such false courtesies are wasted on us."

_Don't bash him, old boy,_ Khelgar fumed, _he doesn't know what she's like._

"Khelgar," Khulmar went on, "stay with your new band, we neither asked for your help nor require it. This is Ironfist clan business."

"Eh?" What was Khulmar on about? "I'm Ironfist clan - your fight is my fight."

Khulmar's face was red. "Those were not the words you used when you left so long ago to pursue this mad... idea of yours. You seek to learn how to fight, but you have cast the aside the _why_ of it - clan honor, duty, these are things you have forgotten the value of."

"If you wish to help," he relented a bit, "then know that the door is sealed to the clanhold - and if you can recount the legend of King Loudram, then you will know how to open it... I think _that_ part of our history is fresh enough in your mind. Whether you return or not, it does not matter to me, and it does not matter to the clan."

"We are with you, Khelgar," Kayla had her hand on his shoulder, "and we want to help."

_That's my Lala!_ Khelgar thought happily.

"All right then," Khelgar rumbled, "let's get to the clanhold door... and hopefully there's something beyond it that needs to be taught a lesson in battle."

"If you truly want to help us," Khulmar said, "then come back to us when you have done something of note, not words, Khelgar. Until then, we have little more to say."

With that, the scout folded his arms and sat down on a boulder.

"Thanks for backing me up, back there," Khelgar said to his leader as they set off down the trail Khulmar showed them.

"You do it often enough for me," she smiled. He was a bit flustered by the kiss she put on the top of his head, but he could live with it.

It didn't take them long to find the trail... or to find the present those wretched bugbears left for them. The dead scout lay in the road. One less kinsman. Damn! There were too few already.

The first warning was nothing more than a crunch of gravel, and it came too late.

"Leira's lamentations!" Khelgar cried. "We've walked into a bloody ambush!"

But his band did well. There were six bugbears. Khelgar's thrown axe took out the first one before it even saw him, and Cas had his down before the first bugbear body stopped twitching. Lala was doing well, too, with her new-found proficiency. Cas caught a claw to the face when he closed on Kayla's bugbear, but Kayla had the killing blow. Qara took one out with a something bright and flashy, and Nobby lay about himself with his longsword clutched in both hands. He wasn't hitting anything, but he sure seemed to be having fun. Khelgar casually walked up and snapped the bugbear's spine with a well-placed hammer blow. The bugbear fell, paralyzed. Nobby gleefully darted in and drove his longsword through the beast's chest, finishing it.

The gnome squealed in glee and did a little victory dance, but Khelgar just ignored him and looked for the sixth. It was buried under a pile of El's summons. The thing was dead, likely as not, but bear and badger tore at it just to make sure.

Damn, but they were a force to be reckoned with. Khelgar was pleased.

"Hold still, Casavir," he heard Lala say, "or you'll have a terrible scar."

"I am unhurt, my lady!" the paladin protested.

"Do as she says," Khelgar barked. "Wouldn't want your pretty face all scarred and nasty. Don't you paladins have rules about that kind of thing?"

Lala ignored them both.

"Don't be an idiot, Casavir," she said. "Facial wounds hurt like hades, and it will just slow you down. I need you to be focused, not thinking about how much your face smarts."

The paladin submitted to her healing, then, and Khelgar couldn't blame him. Scars were the mark of a true warrior, but when it came right down to it, they were best acquired on the way home. Besides, she had a point. No use putting up with the pain if he didn't need to.

After that, they defeated another pack of bugbears to free an Ironfist prisoner. Khelgar didn't know him, but the former captive blessed them, and he counted that for something.

The clanhold... what a sight it had been. At first, they had seen no more than a few more bugbears, but they got to watch the finer points of bugbear treasure division up close. It all boiled down to "surviver takes all," so they didn't have to do anything more than wait for the bastards to kill each other off and mop up the leftovers.

At first, the stone was still bad, and some passages were closed to cave-ins. But the gnome was happy. He found some gadget that fit into a slot, and spouted a load of rubbish about engineering and fulcrums and gears.

"Gond's gears, Nobby," Khelgar interrupted, "can you open that door or not?"

He could, as it turned out. After a tough fight with some of the meanest bugbears he'd ever seen, they found a treasure indeed. Gauntlets.

"I don't believe it," Khelgar breathed. "Our clan thought they had been lost forever."

"What are they," Kayla asked, stepping closer for a better look.

"My clan history may not be what it should," he admitted, "but I know what these are - the Gauntlets of Ironfist, held by the first of our kings..."

And now he held them... in his actual hands...

"Torim Ironfist, our last great king, was said to have worn them when our homeland fell to the orcs," he explained. "But that would mean this clanhold is... This must be our first clanhold, the halls where Torim made his final stand... if I had only _known_ this place was here... that _these_ were here."

"So they're relics of your clan," Kayla said respectfully, "an heirloom."

"Oh, it's much more than that," Khelgar's chest swelled with pride. "We Ironfists wouldn't wear something like these if they didn't have a practical use, too. Anyone who wears them gains the strength of ten, maybe twenty... it's how the clan earned the name Ironfist. With these, you could probably punch through a stone wall. And that's just the beginning. It's said that if the wearer also wielded the Hammer of Ironfist, he could fell dragons with one blow."

"I'm not sure you couldn't do that anyway, Khelgar," Kayla smiled at him, but he never heard her.

"It must be destiny that I've found them," he said. "It must mean that the Ironfist clan shall reclaim our home."

"That would be a great day," Kayla said.

Khelgar looked at Kayla then.

"And to think..." he said. "I would never have come here, met my brothers, if you had not brought me here to these mountains."

His voice trailed off. He was still looking at Kayla, but he weighed the gauntlets in his hands.

"Here. You should take the gauntlets, Lala," he said. "You've performed a great service for me and my clan."

"Those gauntlets belong on Ironfist hands, Khelgar," Kayla replied. "You keep them."

"I... I thank you," Khelgar said. "I'm far from a king, but it means a lot to me that you feel I'm worthy enough to wear them."

"More than worthy, Khelgar," Kayla insisted. "But we should report back to Khulmar. He will want to hear of this place... and what we found."

When they returned to Khulmar, it was just going on sunset. They found them by the smell of roasting meat. Khelgar's mouth was watering while they were still a quarter mile out. And while they might not travel this far with beer, they must have firewhiskey...

Khulmar was not happy to see them.

"If you have not entered the clanhold,"Khulmar said, "then you have no business with us."

Khelgar just grinned behind his beard and let Lala do the talking.

"We explored the stronghold," she said, "but it's collapsed. There's no way through."

"Hnh," Khulmar grunted. "The rock in this region has always proven difficult to carve, and it's not one for keeping its shape without a good hammer disciplining it. We'll have to find another way, then - there's other entrances we might be able to uncover."

Khelgar could hold his peace no longer.

"But we found something else!" he said, thrusting his gauntleted fists in front of his clansman. "Look at this, Khulmar - what do you see?"

"It's a pair of gauntlets, Khelgar," Khulmar said irritably. Khelgar forgave him and just let him keep looking. "Well-crafted, to be sure... and they have the mark of... Clangeddin's hammer, are my eyes blinded... are those the Gauntlets of Ironfist?"

"The same," Khelgar agreed happily. "Who knows what other treasures are buried deep in the clanhold, Khulmar, but if we found these after a quick search... well, who knows? Even the rest of it might be down there."

"You've found a relic, Khelgar..." Khulmar sounded awed, "part of our history."

"I didn't do it," Khelgar admitted, "you have my friend here to thank. And we never would have known this place to be here if you hadn't been here before us, Khulmar. And the gauntlets, well, they should rest with the clan, I think."

"No, Khelgar," Khulmar disagreed, "if you two found them, then they were meant to be held by you both - for a time. When your journey is done, perhaps you shall return them to us."

"Are you good to keep traveling these mountains?" Khelgar asked. Some of his clansmen looked pretty battered. They might need his help. "If you like, I could -"

"Our wounds have healed," the other dwarf said, "and you've already given us enough aid. Perhaps we were too quick to judge your allies, Khelgar."

Khulmar paused, and addressed Kayla directly.

"The Ironfist Clan is in your debt, Kayla..." his voice trailed off, but he looked at Kayla expectantly.

Kayla's eyes widened. Khelgar almost laughed at her puzzlement. She wanted to give Khulmar a clan name, but she had none.

"Kayla Morrow," she said, after a slight pause. Khulmar nodded.

"The Ironfist Clan is in your debt, Kayla Morrow," Khulmar said solemnly, "this I swear to you in stone and steel. Such a debt shall not be forgotten in the days to come."

Khulmar turned to Khelgar again.

"And Khelgar," he said, "if your path lies with this one, so be it. But the clan shall await your return."

His clan. His people. But not yet.

"It shall not be long, I think, Khulmar," he said, "but someone needs to watch out for this little one or else she'll be lying in a grave."

Khulmar laughed at that.

"Very well, Khelgar," Khulmar chuckled, "may stone shield you from the sky, and ale be always at your hand - but not too much ale, you know how you get after the twelfth tankard."

Khelgar laughed, too. Twelve tankards would go down well, about now... or even one.

"But feast with us tonight, Kayla Morrow," Khulmar said. "Khelgar Ironfist has not supped with his brothers these many seasons, and we have plenty to share."

Khelgar's heart swelled with pride at the name. Khulmar had claimed him, and he was glad of it. He looked to Kayla, though he had no apprehensions about her acceptance of the Khulmar's offer. Harbormen knew the ways of hospitality, and she would not reject his kin, having come so far to find them. Nor did she disappoint.

"I would be honored to break bread with your clan," she said, "though I would be pleased if you would accept this token of gratitude."

Khelgar watched as she took a cup from her pack.

"This chalice was given to me by my own people," she said. "It is not much, but my own kin put much of themselves in it. It will light your steps in darkness, and heal your hurts. Please accept it as thanks for the welcome you have given us."

That was well done, Khelgar thought. He knew that Kayla gave Khulmar the Harvest Cup, the prize she had won at the Harvest Fair, and her last remembrance of home. It was a princely gift for a meal, but Khelgar did not grudge it. Her generosity toward his kin meant more to him than any inconvenience the loss of the item might cause.

Khulmar, too, seemed impressed with the gift, and gave Kayla the kiss of peace. For tonight, at least, Khulmar called her sister, and Khelgar was glad of it.

"I gladly accept your gift," Khulmar said formally, after he had kissed Kayla on each cheek, "and name you friend of my people. But come. We have no board in these lands, but what we have, we share freely. Eat with us, and drink, and leave all cares until tomorrow."

His kin were well-provisioned, Khelgar had to say. They ate fine salt pork and roasted boar, and had onions and barley in plenty. As Khelgar had predicted, they had no beer, but they drank each others' health with the finest dwarven firewhiskey. He was glad to be among his kin, and delighted that they welcomed him. They did not go to great lengths to show it, perhaps, but that was not the way of his people. And really, when all was said, was it not better to accept the freely offered flask than the ponderous words of some false comrade?

Kayla fit in well enough, in that she did what was expected of her. She was friendly to the Ironfists, but she did not ignore her human, elvish, tiefling, and gnomish companions. That, too, was as should be. Family had no need of pretenses.

Khelgar walked by Kayla, and overheard part of a conversation with Casavir.

"...no name for a cleric of Lathander," Casavir said reproachfully.

"It's good enough, Cas," Kayla shrugged it off. "Khulmar wanted my family name, and I have none. My foster father would be furious if I claimed his, and as much as I wish my mentor was my father, he was not. 'Morrow' was the best I could do. Besides, it's true enough. It's another word for 'morning', after all."

"Perhaps," the paladin consented, "but it still says nothing of your family."

"And what of yours, Casavir of Tyr?" she countered.

"My family could ill afford one," the paladin replied. "I have never had the presumption to take one for myself."

"And whose fault is that?" Kayla retorted. "But your training must have been expensive... I'm sorry, Cas, I did not mean to pry."

"Do not trouble yourself," Cas answered. "A paladin's training is expensive, but the temple itself will bear the cost, if there is no other way. Is it not thus among the clergy of Lathander?"

"I suppose," Kayla said. She accepted the flask that Khelgar passed her, then offered it to the paladin. He waved it away, so she handed it back to Khelgar. Cas' loss, Khelgar thought.

"Are you permitted to take drink?" Kayla asked.

"Ale or wine, perhaps," Cas said. "But you will have to take my share of the firewhiskey. Will my refusal offend our hosts?"

Kayla caught Khelgar's cloak.

"Will Cas offend your kin by refusing firewhiskey?" she asked him.

"Maybe," Khelgar admitted. "We take hospitality pretty seriously."

Casavir accepted the flask that time, though it wasn't a very big sip. Khelgar guffawed at the paladin's shudder. Firewhiskey packed quite a wallop.

"Between the dragon and the desert, eh, paladin?" he laughed. "That'll put hair on your chest, it will... er... do humans ever get that?"

Kayla giggled.

"Only the men," she said, then caught Khelgar's furtive glance at the paladin and added, "and not all, at that."

"Hmf," Khelgar snorted. "No wonder you all have to bundle up so much when it gets cold."

Khulmar himself came by a few moments later, and handed Kayla a drinking horn. Khelgar raised his eyebrows at that. The offer of the clan cup was an honor, and he hoped she would not refuse it. It was full of specially blessed firewhiskey, and Khulmar would give it to each of his clan in turn until the horn was empty.

She took it reverently, but she was in for a bath if he didn't say something.

"Point down, Lala," Khelgar hissed. She smiled her thanks and turned the horn so that the point of it faced her. That way, the contents would not slosh into her face when she lifted it. She took a drink and handed it back.

"Marthammor Duin keep guard your steps tomorrow," Khulmar said, then repeated the gesture to each of them in turn. Only Elanee refused, the tree-hugger. When Khelgar's turn came, Khulmar gripped his forearm afterward in the handshake of kindred.

Khelgar's heart was glad. Kayla had made a friend in Khulmar, and he had made his own peace with his clansman. He was well contented, indeed.


	15. Meetings and Memories

It was good to be back at the Sunken Flagon, Kayla thought. Duncan had been in the basement washing out kegs when she first arrived, so Sal had shown them to their rooms and ordered their baths. By the time Kayla made it down to the taproom, her uncle was back. He welcomed her home with a hearty "Well, now, if it isn't my Harborman kin! What can Uncle Duncan do for you?" and given her a big, ale-soaked hug. Then he wanted to know about her new friends.

"Grobnar's a bard," Kayla introduced the gnome.

"Good, good," Duncan grinned, "we can use some entertainment around here."

Grobnar squealed happily and started making his way around the room.

"And who's that?" Duncan asked, nodding toward a table where Casavir sat by himself, staring morosely into a mug.

"Come here, Casavir," she called. "I want you to meet my uncle."

The paladin rose obediently and walked over to them. Duncan was tall, for a half-elf, but he had to crane his neck to look Casavir in the eye.

"Uncle Duncan, this is Casavir," Kayla said. "He's a paladin of Tyr and he saved my life at least twice."

"I'm glad to know you, son," Duncan grinned, gripping the paladin's hand. "Any friend of Kayla's will always be welcome under my roof, but I'm honored to have Tyr's servant in my house. Make yourself at home, Casavir."

"Thank you for your generosity," Casavir replied. "Your niece has spoken of you often, and well."

With that, Casavir nodded his farewell and returned to his solitary table.

"He doesn't talk much, does he?" Duncan observed.

"You get used to it, after a while," Kayla could not quite explain the embarrassment she felt at Casavir's reserve. "And he does talk more, once he gets to know you a bit. But he really did save my life. I was attacked by sword spiders -"

"Kayla, lass, don't do that to your old uncle," he laughed. "I know you've got a dangerous life, but I don't want to hear about how close I came to losing you. He's welcome here. I won't have to worry about him busting up my tables or drinking all my ale. Speaking of which, why don't I pull us a couple of mugs and you can tell me all about your trip... at least the parts where you didn't get hacked to ribbons."

So Duncan put his apron aside and listened to Kayla's stories, though she left out her encounter with the sword spider... and most of her interactions with Casavir. Somehow, she did not think her uncle wanted to hear about how the paladin had walked in on her bath or how she couldn't tear her eyes from him.

That much, it seemed, he could figure out on his own.

"Well, it looks like you're fond of your new friend," Duncan said, scratching his chin.

"What makes you say that, uncle?" she asked, though her face had already begun to turn pink.

"You've been looking at him the whole time we've been talking," the half-elf grinned. "Still, if you're going to stare at somebody, no harm in it being a paladin. It isn't like I have to worry about _him_ taking advantage."

Though she didn't dare say this to her uncle, Kayla wondered if it more likely wouldn't be the other way around. He had bathed and shaved as soon as Sal had shown him his room, and now wore nothing but his leggings and shirt. He'd left off his tunic in the unseasonable heat, and had rolled up the sleeves of his linen shirt to reveal powerful forearms. He'd stretched his long legs under the table, and Kayla admired their shape. So many tall, lean men had skinny legs and bony knees, but not Casavir. He might be slender, but he carried a lot of muscle on his frame. Still, it was neither his arms nor his legs that kept her spellbound, but the flash of pale skin she saw through the gap in his shirt. He had left the neck undone in the warm common room, and she could not look at anything but the curve of his collarbone and the shallow cleft between his pectorals. That hint of flesh was all she needed to construct the rest of his torso in her mind, and the vision was mesmerizing.

She was glad they sat at different tables. She would have been mortified, had he known of the ache that was building in her groin at the sight of him. For a moment, she imagined herself going to him and seating herself on his lap, straddling him so she could open his shirt further and run her hands over his bare chest... and rub something even more sensitive against whatever hardness she might find further down his body. Her own body quivered at the thought, but her shame burned in her face. He might have been more open with her lately, but he was still a holy warrior... and one not interested in her.

But Casavir had left his table, and was walking toward her!

_No! _Kayla's mind recoiled. _Not now! I'm soaking through my smalls, here. I can't talk to him now. He'll _know_._

"Are you well, my lady?" he asked.

"Er... yes, Casavir," she mumbled, very aware of her own red face. "It's just that it's very warm in here..."

"May I get you some water?" he asked.

"Please," she said gratefully. Her yearning for him would not abate by the time he returned, but she might have recovered enough to speak with him without undressing him in her mind.

"Well hello, Princess," a familiar voice drawled by her elbow. "Couldn't tear yourself away from me, could you?"

"My uncle owns the inn, Bishop," she rolled her eyes. "Of course, I'd come back."

The ranger's arrival might have been a godsend. Nothing quenched her desire like a dose of arrogance... except that he was stroking her neck. His fingertips traced a line from the nape of her neck to her hairline, and each feather-soft caress sent a fresh jolt of arousal straight to her nethers.

"Stop that, Bishop," she said.

"What's the matter, Princess?" he leered. "Am I too much man for you?"

"It's too hot for any of that nonsense," Kayla protested, lamely falling on the same excuse she had used with Casavir, and then laughing that she had used the same falsehood to both disguise her arousal and deny it.

"Suit yourself," he said, once more turning a chair around and straddling it. He, too, had stripped to shirt and leggings. This was going to be a difficult evening, Kayla could tell...

That night with Bevil had awakened her to a whole new world of things she might do to relieve the longing she was feeling, but she dared not not suggest any of it to either of them. The one would be justly appalled at her wantonness, and the other, only too eager to show her his.

Casavir was back with her water, and a mug of what smelled like the same for himself. He recoiled a bit when he saw Bishop, but seated himself beside her anyway.

"Would you be kind enough to introduce me to your friend, my lady?" he asked.

"Bishop isn't really a friend, Casavir," she said, blushing harder, "though I think he knows my uncle."

"That's right," he sneered. "But I don't think I'll be staying. There's one too many pairs of balls at this table for my liking. You'll know where to find me if you want to do something about that itch, Princess."

_Damn! How in the nine hells did Bishop know about that? _Kayla cursed his perception, even as she watched him swagger back to the bar... and his wolf. _Right. He's got a wolf for a companion... with a very good nose._

"An 'itch', my lady?" Casavir asked, politely ignoring Bishop's vulgarity. "I can ease it for you, if you would allow it."

Kayla choked on her water. Casavir dodged the worst of the spray and waited for her coughing to subside.

"My lady, are you quite sure you are well?" he asked in concern. "You blame the heat for the flush in your cheeks, though it is not that warm, and the ranger speaks of some unease you suffer... and your cough troubles me. Have you caught some fever? Is there nothing I can do to relieve your discomfort?"

_You could remove your clothing and brace yourself,_ Kayla thought, though she tried to frame a more appropriate answer. _Failing that, you could go back to your own table._

"No, Casavir," she said, when she could speak, "I'm fine, really. I just swallowed the water sideways. Sorry about the bath, by the way."

"Do not trouble yourself, my lady," he said, wiping the water off his arms. He extended his hand, then, and touched the back of it to her cheek. "You _are_ very warm, my lady. Your fortitude is admirable, but if you are ill -"

"Casavir," she interrupted him. "I'm a cleric. If I was ill, which I am not, I could cure it myself. If you must know, I do not particularly enjoy Bishop's company. My face is red and warm because he said something offensive while you were getting our drinks."

"Forgive me, my lady," he answered, looking relieved. "I did not know. Shall I speak to him?"

"Don't bother, please" Kayla said. "Your presence seems to discourage him."

"Then I shall stay by you so you are not troubled by him again," he said resolutely, though she thought she caught a bit of a smile at that.

"Thank you, Casavir," she said, "I'd like that."

_And why not? With him sitting this close, but to one side, you can't see much._

They drank their water in silence. Grobnar looked like he was enjoying himself, talking to the tavern patrons. Neeshka and Qara had started up again, with help from Khelgar, but they were too far away for her to either hear it or be bothered by it. Elanee was still taking her bath, or perhaps she had decided against joining them in the common room.

"Are you hungry?" Kayla asked Casavir suddenly.

"Yes," he replied, but his voice had an odd, dreamy quality to it. She turned to look at his face. His eyes were closed.

"Casavir?" she said sharply. "Are you all right?"

He startled and looked at her.

"Forgive me, my lady," he said. "As you say, it is warm in here. I was miles away, and well on my way to sleep."

"What were you daydreaming about?" she asked him impulsively.

"A spring day a long time ago," he said. "I was with the Order, and we were on campaign. It is of no import."

"What made you leave your Order?" she asked him.

"Would you forgive me if I chose not to say?" he replied. "At least, not yet."

"Yes, of course," she answered, more curious than before. "I had just asked you if you were hungry."

"I am," he said. "Shall I get our dinners?"

"Just wave to Sal," she said. "First try, you'll always get ale, but when Qara shows up with the drinks, you can tell her you want food."

"Isn't that more work for Qara?" Casavir asked.

"Yes," Kayla grinned.

"My lady, you're wicked," he said reproachfully, though he smiled while he said it.

"It's her own fault she's working here," Kayla replied. "She did some heavy damage to the Sunken Flagon, and she's working off her debt to Uncle Duncan."

"It is odd that she should have to do that," Casavir mused. "Her family could buy this tavern and everything in it."

"There appears to have been a falling out," Kayla said delicately.

"I see," the paladin rolled his eyes. He held up his hand, then lowered it at Sal's nod of acknowledgment. "What are your plans for tomorrow?"

"I must report to Captain Brelaina at the Watch," she said. "But before that, we've got to go shopping."

"Do we, my lady?" he asked, baffled.

"I don't know about you," she said, "but I'm not putting my gambeson on ever again. Between the blood and the sweat, I couldn't even bear to have it in my room. I've had it burned. So I need a new gambeson, and two new tunics, and a couple shirts, and another pair of leggings... and my boots are done for, I think."

He just smiled at her.

"Perhaps I will indulge in a new gambeson," he said at last, then he blushed. "Or perhaps I will just have it laundered."

"Why not buy a new one?" Kayla asked. "You certainly deserve it, and more."

"I have no money," he said, his ears very red.

"Oh, don't worry about that!" she laughed. "We've got plenty, and we'll have more once we sell whatever items we aren't going to use."

"I was unsure how you planned to divide the... spoils." He said the last word reluctantly.

"We split everything evenly, after we've paid our bills," she said.

"I do not need a full share," he said. "I would only give it to the temple."

"If you want to give it to the temple, that's your choice," she said. "Though I'd suggest saving out enough to buy yourself a new gambeson... and you need new boots, as well, and I'm sure that after a couple of years in the wilderness of Old Owl Well, you'd like some new clothes."

Khelgar and Neeshka arrived before Qara did. Casavir slid his chair closer to Kayla's to make room.

"Ooh," Neeshka's ears perked up, "what's this about new clothes?"

"Cas needs them," Kayla supplied. "And so do you, Neesh. But I want to get you better armor, too. We can afford it. We made a hefty penny that trip."

"My lady..." Casavir interrupted, "there is one other expense, I fear. Does your uncle have stables?"

"Yes," Kayla said, though she'd never had occasion to use them herself. "What do you want them for?"

"Katriona sent Minnow with Issani," he explained. "He'll be at the Watch, now, but I want to collect him in the morning."

"Who's Minnow?" Khelgar asked.

"My horse," Casavir said.

"You named your horse Minnow?" Neeshka giggled.

"He likes to swim," the paladin shrugged. "I fear his board is likely to be costly. Your uncle might house us, but I do not expect that he will be willing to bear the expense of a warhorse."

"Probably not," Kayla agreed, then frowned. "Will we need to buy horses, do you think?"

"It might be best," Casavir said reluctantly.

"No Ironfist is getting on any fool horse!" Khelgar protested.

"I'll say!" Qara interjected, appearing with the two ales. "It would be nothing but four legs sticking out from under one fat dwarf."

Kayla pushed her mug in front of Khelgar. To her relief, he seemed willing to let the insult go, and turn his full attention to his first ale in weeks.

"I'd like wine, Qara," she said. "And I think we're all ready for dinner now."

"And I'd like mead," Neeshka said. "Your uncle really does have the best in Neverwinter, Kayla."

"I'll be sure to tell him you said that," Kayla grinned.

"Do you want anything else?" Qara sneered. "I'm afraid we're out of honeysuckle nectar and unicorn steaks, but I hear the harbor water is very good, this season."

"Don't you go dishing out any of your sauce, girl," Duncan admonished, dragging a chair over to join them. "You still have quite a substantial balance on your ledger."

Qara snorted and stomped off.

"Neeshka likes your mead, Uncle," Kayla dutifully repeated.

"I'm glad you do," he beamed. "I was taking a chance, bringing it in here. It's mostly an ale and firewhiskey crowd, here in the Docks, but we do get travelers from time to time, and it never hurts to offer what they like."

Kayla sighed. This was probably about as good a time as ever to broach the subject of horses.

"Say, Uncle Duncan," she began, "do you get a lot of use out of your stables?"

"A bit, every once in a blue moon" he said, "but nowhere near as much as I'd like. It's really just wasted space, but I haven't had the inclination to tear it down."

"Would you object to some five or six new boarders?" she asked. "Casavir has a horse, and we'll probably need them, too. We'll take care of the feed and bedding, and muck out the stalls, of course."

"When you put it like that, I couldn't very well object," Duncan smiled. "It will be good to get some use out of the building."

"Thank you, Uncle," Kayla said gratefully.

Qara was back with their drinks, and a tankard for Duncan.

"Dinner will be a while," she said. "Sal didn't make enough stew, and the next batch won't be ready for half a candle."

"So how's about a round or two of Memory while we're waiting for our dinners?" her uncle asked.

Khelgar groaned, but Kayla and Neeshka agreed readily.

"I do not know the game," Casavir said hesitantly.

"It's easy enough," Kayla explained. "The first person to go says a word, and the person to his left repeats that word and adds another. Then the person to his left repeats both words, and adds a third. And on it goes until somebody forgets something."

"And if you're the one that forgets, you have to drink," Neeshka added.

"And if you can't think of one fast enough, you have to drink, too," Khelgar muttered, but then brightened. "But why not? I've got a terrible thirst tonight."

"Get a drink yourself and join us, Qara," Duncan said. "Sal can hold down the fort for a candle or two, slow as it is, this time of day, and I reckon you've earned a break."

Qara scampered off happily to comply with her employer's request. Kayla had to smile at that. For a few moments, anyway, Qara had forgotten to be arrogant. Maybe the sorceress wasn't as bad as all that.

o.O.o

Casavir played this new game with apprehension. His vows might not forbid intoxication outright, but it was certainly frowned upon. Still, he was reluctant to voice his objections. No matter how he phrased it in his mind, he came off sounding like one of his tutors, lecturing on sin. And no one specified how long he must play. He allowed himself one tankard, and then he would drop out and watch. Besides, focusing on the game prevented him from thinking about the woman seated to his right.

The sight of her entering the common room had stunned him. She wore a simple spring-green gown, and her damp coppery hair was unbound, and fell loose across her shoulders. He could no more ignore the femininity of her slim figure than he could deny his own response to it. He did the only thing he could: he averted his eyes.

It was with great reluctance that he obeyed her summons to meet her uncle, but he endured it, and delivered the appropriate response when his turn came to speak. Still, he was glad to return to his seat when the opportunity presented itself.

After that, he had avoided looking at her until he had regained his composure. She was busy with her uncle, so she need never know about his distraction.

Some time later, he had risked a glance at her, and was distressed to find her unwell. She really had looked ill, with a flushed face and a trembling hand, despite her assertions that she was fine. But perhaps that was understandable, if she had been subjected to that... ruffian's lewdness. He chided himself for that. He had been shockingly inattentive, for her to have had to endure that in the first place. It would not happen again. He had felt the wrongness of that man, that Bishop, she had called him, and he would not allow him to approach her a second time.

He had promised her that he would stay by her, to ward off unwelcome advances, and found that he enjoyed it. He was serving her, and that was as it should be, but she was surprisingly easy company. If he chose to be silent, she no longer pressed him to talk. For quite some time, she had left him to his thoughts.

She wore a scent, he recalled. He had become aware of it when a passerby had stirred the air near them, and it had stolen into his memory. It took him back across sixteen years, to his first campaign with the Order, as a very junior man-at-arms. He had but fifteen summers, and he had been allowed a candle's leisure. They were south of Neverwinter, near the coast, and the spring sunshine had been bright, that day. He had taken himself to an orchard, and lay beneath the trees, watching puffy white clouds above the branches. He had been happy, then, lying in the dappled sunlight on the sun-warmed grass, breathing the fragrance of the apple-blossoms, but also of hay and clover and mint, and the rosemary that clung to the stones, and the faint, briny hint of the breeze off the ocean. For that one hour, he had been no more than a boy in an orchard, without a care in the world. The man he had become closed his eyes and breathed deep, savoring both the scent and the memory.

Tonight, as on that afternoon so long ago, he'd returned to The Duty with a sigh.

Their dinner finally arrived. It was not worth the wait. The food was just as foul as he remembered, insipid, and greasy, with stringy lumps of some meat he dared not name. No wonder business at the Sunken Flagon died off around mealtimes.

"Beshaba's breath, but it's bad tonight," Duncan muttered, poking his stew unenthusiastically. "I've got to talk to Sal about this. People might come for the drinks, but they'll stay for the food, if it doesn't kill them, that is."

"Uncle Duncan," Kayla began, "would it help if -"

"No, Kayla, it wouldn't help," the half-elf said. Apparently, this was an old argument. "Good food goes into that kitchen. I've seen it. Why, the Sunken Flagon gets the best meats in the Docks, and bushels of decent produce, too, but this is what comes out of the kitchen. I don't know how he does it."

"One of us could cook, while we're here," she insisted.

"Who?" Duncan asked. "You've got the Watch to keep you busy, and that's a job and a half. No, I'll just have to have a word with Sal. Again. Ah, well, at least the drink is good."

Casavir sighed and tried to fill up on bread. That, at least, was outstanding. He hadn't tasted anything like it in almost two years, and there was honey to go with it.

They played Memory again, after they had given up on dinner, but Casavir was watching, now. He had drunk his one tankard, and was content to let Khelgar drink his share of the rest. The dwarf was decidedly inebriated. He roared with laughter and slapped Casavir's knee painfully the one time the paladin had spoken. From that moment, he resolved to say no more, if he wanted to walk out of there on his own legs.

The Lady, too, had drunk more than was wise, perhaps, though Casavir was willing to swear that he had seen her take no more than three glasses. The man who had disturbed her earlier was still about, and looked worse for drink himself. When she rose unsteadily to go to her bed, the paladin stood, too.

"May I walk you to your room, my lady?" he asked.

"Good a time as any, lad," Khelgar bellowed, thumping Casavir on the shoulder. He ignored the dwarf, and offered his leader his arm.

"Thank you, Cas," she giggled. "But I know where it is."

"Yes, my lady," he agreed. "Would you humor me?"

"'Spose," she sighed, and took the offered arm.

Casavir noted that Bishop watched them all the way to the foot of the stair. Casavir did not know what manner of man Bishop was. If all he did was look for an easy, willing target, The Lady was safe, but until he learned more, he could not afford to relax. He must keep one or the other in his sight.

And The Lady did need his help on the stair. She might not be as far gone as Khelgar, but she was anything but secure in her footing. She slipped on the fourth step.

Casavir caught her, and once more, he breathed her scent. This time, it had a very different, far less relaxing effect on him.

_She is a lady, and she is your leader,_ he reproached himself. _You will behave like the gentleman you are supposed to be, paladin._

"Sorry, Cas," she hiccuped. "I think I might... have had a bit too much to drink... I'm not usually like this."

"I know, my lady," he murmured in what he hoped was a soothing voice.

"And what you must think of me..." she moaned.

"Do not tr-... do not make yourself uneasy," he reassured her, patting the hand that clung to his forearm. "I know this is no habit for you."

"It was the game," she said, still hiccuping, "lose once and you... lose more."

"Hold your breath, my lady," the paladin advised patiently.

They were at her door. She fumbled with the key, so he took it from her and opened the door for her... and the fragrance washed over him. She had added it to her bath, and the servants had not yet cleared that away.

He turned, but she stumbled. He steadied her, and then stood paralyzed, looking at her face. She had not the slack features of drunkenness, but rather a softness, a timid vulnerability that appealed to that same part of his soul that had awakened in Callum's camp.

He felt the feather brush of her fingertips on his cheek.

"Want to come in?" she asked shyly.

Once again, he was back in Old Owl Well, seeing her like a siren in a stream, but this time, his restraint failed him. In his mind, he was embracing her, lifting her and carrying her to the bed, running his hands over her body, parting her slender thighs...

He shuddered violently.

"My lady!" he gasped, astonished and appalled at his own lust. "No!"

She still looked up at him, but her lip trembled. Her eyes glittered.

_She fears me,_ he all but moaned aloud. _She knows what I just saw... she knows what I almost did. Say something, you dolt._

"My lady, you have nothing to fear from me," he stammered. "Sleep well, my lady, but lock the door."

She fled into her room and slammed the door behind her. He heard her bed creak, but he heard no key in the lock. He longed to go back to his own room and plunge himself into the icy tub that he hoped still waited there, but he could not leave her unprotected, nor could he go into her room himself to lock the door. He would be on the wrong side of it, and in his current state, that would be disastrous.

Duncan must have a key, but what could he say to her uncle, with his own yearning going on before him, as it were. In this heat, he had no cloak to drape over his arm. Still, there was nothing else to do. She had still not locked the door, and he had already lingered longer than was proper. He must be seen to return to the taproom, and soon, or her uncle would question his honor.

Tymora smiled on him. Duncan was behind the bar, and he could speak to the man with the counter between them.

"Have you a key to your niece's room?" he asked. The half-elf blinked at him in surprise.

"Of course I do," he said, "but I'm not giving it to _you_."

"No, I do not ask it for myself," Casavir replied hastily, shaking his head at his blunder. "But she has gone to her room and has not locked the door. She may have... indulged too freely, and I do not like an unlocked door between her and..."

He was really unsettled, if he could be so tactless. For all he knew, Bishop was Duncan's trusted friend, and he was slandering the man with no proof but his own apprehension and The Lady's professed dislike.

"Good man, Casavir," Duncan approved. "Thanks for looking out for her. I'll see to it at once."

The paladin allowed himself a relieved sigh and went back to the group.

"That was quick," Khelgar grinned. "Guess everything goes faster for you humans."

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Khelgar!" Neeshka poked the dwarf. "He walked her to her room. It was a very gentlemanly thing to do."

The paladin cleared his throat and sat down between Khelgar and Grobnar. He did not protest when Qara put a tankard in front of him, but drank it down distractedly, and then another. By then, he was better able to pay attention to what his companions were saying.

"... four horses, I think," Neeshka was saying. "I don't want one, but we'll need them."

"I've said this once," Khelgar rumbled, "and I'll say it again. "No Ironfist is going to ride a horse."

"If we're all riding, you can't very well walk," Neeshka said patiently. "You can ride with me."

"No," Casavir disagreed. "Each person needs his own horse. Have any of you ridden before?"

"I have," Qara said. "I love riding."

"I've done it once or twice," Neeshka said, "but I'm no expert... and it was mostly other peoples' horses, if you know what I mean. But I bet Elanee can ride."

"How about you, Grobnar?" Casavir asked.

"I don't know," the gnome replied. "I've never tried it."

"Can Kayla?" he asked.

"Don't know," Khelgar grunted.

"I don't want to put two inexperienced people on one horse," the paladin mused, then reddened at the thought of Kayla riding behind him, clinging to him. He shuddered again and banished the thought from his mind. "No, we will need six, and possibly one for baggage."

In the end, the paladin got his way. Elanee had not yet been consulted, but she was unlikely to protest.

Casavir was sleepy. It had been a long night, and a trying one, at times, and he had drunk at least one more ale than he was accustomed to taking. He stretched, and caught sight of Bishop off toward the stair... with a woman on his arm. For a moment, Casavir panicked, fearing the man had gotten to Kayla despite his precautions, but no, that woman had reddish hair, all right, but it was clearly dyed that shade, and the paladin was certain The Lady had never worn anything that immodest. So, it seemed that the man was an opportunist. It did not make him honorable, but it did not make him a marauder, either. If his continued observations did not force him to reconsider, Casavir might allow that Bishop was unlikely to assault Kayla in the Sunken Flagon.

With her safety ensured, at least for tonight, Casavir could go to his bed with a clear conscience... as long as he did not remember the incident at the door of Kayla's room. But it was too late. The prohibition against the thought evoked it, and brought a fresh surge of guilt. He slept, but his dreams were troubled.


	16. Dark Night, Glad Sunrise

_Disclaimer: Obsidian owns Casavir, I just borrow him every once in a while._

* * *

Kayla lay on her bed and sobbed. She had been such a fool, to think that Casavir's chivalry in helping her to her room could have been anything more than what it was, sympathy for his dazed and drunken leader. His rejection stung, but his horror at the suggestion was worse. His shocked "No!" still rang in her ears.

For a while, she tried to distract herself with anger at Casavir. Who did he think he was, to be so picky? She was no lush-figured dancer at the temple of Sune, perhaps, but she was hardly a troll. He had no right to be so cruel.

Or had he recoiled at her drunkenness? Yet he had been so kind to her on the stair, when she had slipped, and it was his idea to walk her to her room in the first place. He didn't flee in terror until after she invited him into it.

No, he was repulsed by her. It really was as simple as that. And she would have to face him in the morning with the knowledge that there was no woman on Toril who revolted him more.

She cried herself to sleep.

* * *

Casavir stared at the ceiling, awash in guilt. Weary as he was, and mellow from the ale, besides, sleep was slow to come, though he longed for the oblivion of it... anything to escape his conscience. When at last he did rest, he dreamed.

He stood in judgment before the throne of Tyr. The book of his deeds lay open on his god's knees. Tyr the Evenhanded pointed to this day and placed it in the balance, on the side that held the most terrible of his sins. The scales tipped, and he was damned. He had always walked too close to that margin between salvation and eternal torment. The follies of his past had nearly caused him to Fall. But his sins of tonight tipped the scales, and he was doomed.

He woke in a cold sweat. But no, he was not dead, nor had he Fallen. He could still feel his god-given powers intact. Still, he was dangerously close to damnation, unless he could master himself.

And what grief he had caused! He had shown her the ugliest part of his soul. He had no right subjecting her to that.

_Have you wallowed in self-loathing long enough?_ His conscience used Prior Hlam's voice tonight. That was hardly unusual. The cleric had been the only father he had ever known. _Because if you have, there is still one thing left to consider. Who do you serve, yourself or Tyr? This is not a trick question._

_Very good. Now, to serve Tyr, you need to be just. Have you committed a single righteous act since last you made your devotions? No? I thought not. Why do you think that is? Don't act so shocked. You have been so preoccupied with your own desires and yes, your own shortcomings, that you have failed to take the wellbeing of others into account. There is no justice in that. Whose welfare is more important, yours or Kayla's? _

_So, if her welfare means more to you than your own, why are you agonizing over your faults, as you see them, and ignoring her needs? She deserves fairness from you. Why not think about her for a moment? Kayla is innocent of any evil. You know that. But she is also ignorant of worldly vice. She has not seen the things you have seen. She knows nothing of the ugliness of men's souls, including yours. She would not know lust to look at it on the face of another._

_To be truly just, you need to witness the truth through eyes other than your own. What did Kayla see? What did she hear? She saw you react in horror to her invitation to enter her room. She heard you cry "No!" and flee like you faced the worst of all demons. She knew nothing of your... distraction. That really is disgusting, by the way, but you can address that once you have undone the harm you have caused._

_Why did she ask you into her room, anyway? Yes, you meet with her every night to talk about the plans for the coming day, but you already did that before dinner. She had some wine in her, yes, and that lowered her inhibitions. You already know that she is an unguarded, affectionate soul. Might she not have been curious about some of those things that you've been avoiding all these years? Oh, do grow up. Her goodness is not tarnished by her humanity, and her faith is far more worldly than yours, when it comes to carnal needs._

_So she asked you into her room, with all the maidenly reserve you might hope for, and you reacted with horror and rejection. How do you think that made her feel? Please feel free to hate yourself, now._

And he did.

He wanted to go to the Halls of Justice to confess and atone, but would they even hear him, there? He had left his Order of his own free will, and there was no going back. Still, Tyr would hear him in the Sunken Flagon as readily as the temple. He might make his confession here and be assured that Tyr would judge the sincerity of his remorse. Penance was more difficult, but he improvised. He knelt on the cold fire screen, and let the pinch of the sharp metal grille against his bare knees remind him that his thoughts and actions had painful consequences, to others, as well as to himself. Once his knees had lost the ability to feel any greater pain, he considered his penance done.

But one thing still troubled him. He might have improved his standing with his god, but in the morning, he would have to face his worldly master. He could kneel on that grating all night long, but he could not undo what he had done. He had hurt her. She might have thought him honorable before this, but he had destroyed her trust in him. From this day forward, he was no more worthy of it than the tiefling.

Still, sleep would not be denied forever, and eventually, he surrendered.

* * *

Kayla woke at her usual time, a candle or so before dawn. She might be a little sluggish from the wine she had drunk the night before, but that would pass.

Rest brought her clarity, and she saw the events of the night before quite differently, in the predawn stillness.

Yes, Casavir had rejected her advances, clumsy as they had been, and yes, he had reacted badly to them, but what was so strange about that? He said himself that he was forbidden to indulge merely for the sake of indulging, and that is precisely what she had asked him to do. Is it any wonder that he had been less than thrilled at the suggestion? Taking that into account, Kayla was surprised he'd even been that civil.

She'd offended his sensibilities, but she had also asked him to defy a tenet of his religion. As a paladin, he had to be very careful about that.

When she thought about it, had he really given any hint that he had found her that unattractive? She saw fear in his face, but she did not see hatred, or even disgust. No, his reaction was much more easily explained, now. Her vanity was saved.

But she owed him an apology. She cringed at the thought of facing him, after the spectacle of the night before, but she owed him that. If he was even willing to continue in her company, she would not have him live in fear that the mad cleric would assault him once more, or put his calling in jeopardy.

Could she call on him this early? Probably best to put his mind at rest as quickly as possible.

She put on one of her town gowns. She would rather have worn tunic and leggings, because she'd have to try on a gambeson later, but the only set she currently owned was too filthy to wear. So she put on her other dress, a forest-green woolen gown. It would have been far too warm to wear yesterday, but the air was changing. Today would be cool, she reckoned, and she could smell the rain.

Casavir's door was locked, but that did not surprise her. It was still nearly a candle before dawn, and he might be sleeping. She knocked and waited. With no response, she knocked again. She could hear the key in the lock.

After the sound of fumbling died down, the door opened. The paladin stood blinking in the threshold. He had thrown on a tunic, but she saw that it was backwards, and his bare legs stuck out the bottom of it. Clearly, she had roused him from sleep.

"My lady?" he asked blearily.

"May I come in?" she asked.

"Yes, of course," he replied, and stepped aside to allow her into his room. Her uncle had given Casavir a tiny room, with no furnishings but the bed, a single chair, and the wash-stand. At least the room had a fireplace, though. He'd turned the chair into an impromptu armor rack, but she perched on the edge of it, leaving him to sit on the bed. He left the door open, which was well, because he had lit no lamp, and it was still well before daybreak.

"Casavir... about last night..." she began as soon as he had seated himself. Now that she was in the same room with him, she found it difficult to continue. She forgot every word of her carefully prepared apology. Her cheeks burned, but at least it was too dark in the room for him to see her blush.

"My lady..." his voice was as hesitant as hers. "Pray... forgive my rudeness. I swear by my faith that I intended no insult."

She blinked. Was he really apologizing for being a paladin?

"No, Casavir, it's all right," she said, looking at the paladin's bare feet. She did not trust herself to look anywhere else. "I should not have been so presumptuous... or so insensitive. I'm sorry."

"My lady, you did no wrong," he insisted. The sincerity of his tone comforted her. "It is I who behaved callously. Forgive me, please."

"Can we forget the whole thing ever happened?" she asked. With them both so contrite about it, she would certainly be grateful to just let the matter go, and never think of it again.

"I... I would like that very much, if you are willing," he said.

"Then it's settled," she smiled. She intended to look him in the face, but her eyes only got as far as his knees. A pale-skinned man might have knees or elbows pinker than the rest of his skin, but Casavir's were unusually dark. It was difficult to say in the dim light, but they looked scabbed. With a gesture, she called forth a dim sphere of pallid light. It was not as powerful as a full Light spell, but it was bright enough to light the room.

"Casavir, what happened to your knees?" she asked. Both were raw, with a bloody cross-hatch pattern on them.

"It is nothing, my lady," he replied quickly. "Pray do not trouble yourself on my account."

She knew nothing of his faith, really, apart from the fact that he needed to make his own devotions every day at noon. Perhaps Tyr required prayers before rest, as well, or sometime during the night. All that kneeling would be hard on his joints.

She turned to leave, but her gaze fell upon his fireplace, and the fire screen that lay on the floor in front of it. The spacing of the wires mirrored the lines on the paladin's skin. He had knelt on that grating long enough for the metal to cut his flesh. She shuddered. The pain must have been incredible.

"Casavir... why?" she asked.

"It is none of your concern, my lady," he replied calmly.

"Do you have to do that often?" That concerned her. The long-term effects of such punishment would be disabling.

"No... please, it is still very early... when did you intend to run your errands? I should like to accompany you, if I may."

"I'd like to leave as soon as possible after my devotions," she replied. "Neeshka needs new armor, but she won't be up until noon. We can always stop on the way back from the Watch. We don't get much time to rest, so when we do get a day or two to spend at the Flagon, I don't like to wake people up any earlier than I have to... er... sorry, Casavir. I should probably have let you sleep."

He smiled at her rambling.

"That's quite all right," he said. "One ill night is not going to hurt either of us. I will meet you downstairs when you have finished your prayers."

Kayla went back to her room feeling much better than she had when she left it. She had wanted to embrace the paladin for being so understanding, but she couldn't very well do that, so she settled for hugging herself.

Lathander was not a demanding god, as far as ritual was concerned, so she did not need to make many preparations for her devotions. His temples were opulent places, richly endowed by noble patrons. Lathander favored artists as well as athletes, so his houses were beautiful, and full of frescoes and statuary, but such things were not necessary. The Morning Lord might be worshiped in a field or cottage as readily as a temple.

She opened the shutters over her window, glad her room faced east. The sky was gray, and the rain was already falling, but she would feel the moment of sunrise. Even if the clouds hid the face of her lord, she would know when he entered her sight.

_It's going to be a beautiful day,_ she thought happily, then laughed. _No, it's going to rain buckets, and I'm going to be out in it. But I'm going to have him all to myself for a few candles, so let it rain!_

Kayla welcomed the new day with joy in her heart.


	17. Pleasures, Great and Small

When Kayla reached the common room, Casavir was already there, eating breakfast with Elanee. She seated herself beside the druid.

"A pig died so you could eat that, Casavir," Elanee tut-tutted, as the paladin skewerd another sausage.

"I honor his sacrifice," the paladin said solemnly. He held the sausage aloft, nodded in reverence toward it, then savagely bit off one end.

"Murderer," Elanee said reproachfully. Casavir's face froze mid-chew. Kayla could hardly describe his expression, though if she were forced to try, she would have called it stony. He swallowed and put his knife down.

"I apologize, Elanee," the paladin said. "I should not make light of your convictions."

"Try the porridge, Casavir," Elanee coaxed. "It isn't even too lumpy, today."

"I have eaten porridge every day for most of my life, when there was food to be had" he said. "I'll have none this morning."

"Leave him be, El," Kayla said.

Casavir did have a bowl of porridge in front of him, as well as a plate of bread and a pot of honey. He seemed to be enjoying the bread, but it didn't look like he had touched the porridge.

"Are you going to eat that?" she asked him, then took the bowl for herself when he shook his head. Might as well save Sal a bit of work. Casavir offered her one of his sausages, but she refused it, as a peace offering to Elanee.

"We're going shopping today, Elanee," she said. "Want to come with us?"

Kayla hoped Elanee would refuse, but she had to offer, at least.

"No, thanks," Elanee replied. "The rain will keep most people indoors, today, so I thought I'd go to the park."

They ate the rest of their breakfasts, and set off in their separate directions.

"Where shall we go first, my lady?" Casavir asked. "Gambesons are our biggest priority, so perhaps we should see to that."

"Yes, but they will be heavy to carry," Kayla disagreed. "Maybe we should put that off until we're done with everything else, so we don't have to carry them as far."

"You can have them delivered, my lady," Casavir said. "Did you not know?"

"Really?" Kayla smiled at that, imagining all the things she could buy, if she did not have to lug them around town herself. "Do other merchants do that?"

"Most of the reputable ones," he answered.

With that, they went off to the armorer's, then the haberdasher. Casavir's clothing was immaculately clean, but very threadbare. Kayla urged him to buy himself new. He protested the expense, but she would not be refused. In the end, he ordered three linen tunics, two woolen ones, four shirts, three pairs of leggings, and assorted small clothes. She also insisted that he buy something more elegant for those times everyday tunics might be inappropriate. He argued about that, as well, saying that he would never be able to fit half of what he had already purchased in his pack, but he was forced to consent to it after she reminded him that they might store their things at the Sunken Flagon. Duncan rented out the rest of their rooms while they traveled, but he would not rent out hers. If they needed to be away for more than a couple days, he would just have their trunks moved to Kayla's room, and all would be safe until their return. He chose a dark blue woolen doublet and some soft gray leggings.

Kayla bought her own clothing at the haberdasher's, as well. She wore boys' tunics, shirts, and leggings while traveling, so that saved them a trip. She had enough "town clothes" to last her, though she did buy a lightweight cloak. She still wore Casavir's, and it would be too warm for the coming season. They both bought boots.

By the time they were done, most of the morning had passed, so they turned back to the Sunken Flagon.

"Are you hungry?" she asked Casavir.

"Not really," he said. "Are you?"

"A little," she said. "Can you find room for a tart, do you think?"

He smiled, and allowed that he probably could, so they paid the baker a visit, then stood under his awning, eating their pastries and looking out at the rain.

Kayla had to laugh at the eagerness with which the paladin ate his treat. He had chosen a cream tart for himself, and gobbled the gooey pie like he'd never had breakfast.

"I thought you said you weren't hungry," she chuckled.

"I hardly remember the last time I had pastry," he muttered, blushing at his greed.

"How long were you at Old Owl Well, Casavir?" Kayla asked. Out there in the mountains, he had probably been forced to forgo many of the things she took for granted. If she had devoured bread and butter after a week's lack, she could certainly understand his enjoyment of a more varied diet now.

"A year and a half," he said.

"What did you eat, in all that time?" she marveled.

"We hunted for meat, for the most part," he said. "We had some livestock, but it was not enough to support us. We bartered for grain with the plunder we seized from the orcs, and sometimes, we could get a wheel of cheese, as well, though that was uncommon enough. It was harder to find fodder for our horses. We had few of those, only Minnow and the geldings we used on patrol, fourteen in all."

"So what did you miss most?" she asked, curious about how he had lived... and how he had managed to maintain his weight. Surely, they all must have been on the verge of starvation.

"Sweets, apparently" he laughed, "but also ordinary things, like fresh bread. When we got grain, we made porridge and fed the horses. We had precious little from the dairy, just the cheese, as I said, and it was always the keeping kind. Eggs, butter, green cheese, fresh milk, we had none. But vegetables, too. Elanee would be happy. I look forward to the chance to enjoy some greens. We were able to barter for root vegetables, so I've had enough parsnips to last a while, but I want strawberries. It's lucky that the season is coming so soon. And cherries, peaches and apples. And I haven't tasted wine in years. Forgive me, my lady. I must bore you."

"Not at all, Casavir," she answered. "I can't imagine how you survived. I missed butter after a tenday, and you did a year and a half without."

"My lady, I wanted to talk to you about the horses," he said, changing the subject. "They will not be cheap, and we will need seven, by my reckoning."

"Seven?" she frowned. "How so? You have your own already, and there are only seven of us. Can't we double up?"

"No, my lady," he disagreed, "we cannot. We must not overburden our mounts, and putting two riders on one horse would surely do that, unless one of them were the gnome. Besides, not all of your companions are skilled riders. Are you?"

"I'm a farm girl, remember?" she grinned. "We rode the work horses, when we had need. I might not know how to fight on horseback, and I certainly don't know how to gallop, but I can keep my seat well enough."

"Splendid," he smiled. "That will be good enough for a start. At least you are not afraid of them. Perhaps Grobnar can ride with you. You will be light enough not to trouble a horse, and I do not trust the gnome alone on one."

"Will we have time to get the horses today?" she asked.

"No," he answered. "We should not rush such an important purchase. Tomorrow morning."

"We should go back to the Flagon," Kayla said reluctantly. It was pleasant, standing under the tarp with Casavir. It was not a very big shelter, so they had to stand very close to each other.

Elanee had not yet returned, but that did not trouble Kayla. She wanted Neeshka to accompany them to the Watch so that they could buy her armor on the way home, and Khelgar would go because he couldn't bear the thought of spending a rainy afternoon trapped in the Sunken Flagon with no company but Qara and Grobnar.

"You have done well, lieutenant," Captain Brelaina greeted her. "I knew my trust in you was not misplaced. Word of Issani's safe arrival reached us yesterday."

"A pleasure to serve, as always," Kayla said. It was always the same. For months, she had been told that she would soon be allowed access to Blacklake, but there was just one more mission, first. She no longer bothered asking.

"As a special reward, I have authorized your admittance to Blacklake. You should meet with your escort at a candle past noon tomorrow, at the entrance to the district. I trust that you understand that I cannot allow you unrestricted access at this time."

"Thank you, captain," Kayla said. She kept her voice neutral, but she was elated by the news. Finally! She might get some answers about her shards, at last.

"Farewell, lieutenant," Brelaina said. "I will send a messenger when I have another assignment for you."

"Why do you want to go to Blacklake?" Casavir asked once they had left the Watch.

"There's a sage there, Aldanon, who I hope can tell me about my shards," she answered. She told him the story of them while they walked.

At last, after buying Neeshka some enchanted leather armor and a couple new tunics, they returned to the Sunken Flagon. It was getting on to the dinner hour, so the place was mostly deserted, apart from a handful of guests who had rented rooms.

Kayla had expected the tavern to be empty, tonight, with the heavy rain still pattering against the window panes, but she was mistaken. The place filled up faster than usual tonight. Grobnar was even persuaded to sing something. Patrons at nearby tables had begun their usual pastimes, playing at cards or dice, or telling each other tall tales. Kayla was not drinking much tonight, just nursing her tankard and watching her neighbors.

Elanee stayed with them this evening. She had been delighted when Casavir ordered the same dinner she did, bread and cheese with a dried fruit compote, so Kayla suspected the druid's presence was thanks for his sacrifice... though passing up on Sal's stew was no hardship.

But they were all quiet tonight. The rain was dampening everyone's spirits.

Two of Kayla's nearest neighbors had begun to arm-wrestle. It was a common amusement, here at the Sunken Flagon. Each contestant put a coin on the table. The winner of the match would keep both coins, but he was obligated to accept the next challenger. That man, too, would place a bet. If the current champion won, he kept the challenger's coin, but if the challenger was victorious, he won all three. If the champion won five bouts in a row, he was free to stay at the table or leave it, though staying meant that the pot kept getting bigger. Spectators, too, might wager on the outcome.

Khelgar always wanted to participate, but he'd been told that, as a dwarf, he was ineligible. He complained bitterly, but Kayla could see the logic in that. The difference in arm length alone would make things difficult.

The current champion was a burly sailor, and he had amassed quite a stack of coins. He had won his five matches, and then gone on to win another five. In his twelfth match, he lost to an even burlier Greycloak.

The Greycloak won his first four matches, but lost in his fifth to... Bishop! Kayla had been floored to see the ranger sit himself down at the arm-wrestling table, and even more surprised when he won. The ranger had a large frame, certainly, but so did the Greycloak. Still, Bishop won the match, and went on to win the next two.

His third opponent startled Kayla. It was a woman, but not like any woman Kayla had ever seen. She was not tall, but she was broad, moreso perhaps, than all but the stoutest men. She wore a sleeveless leather vest, even in the spring chill, and woolen leggings that disappeared into massive boots. Her arms might well be bigger than Kayla's thighs. At first, she wondered if the stranger might have orcish blood, but no, she showed no sign of it. Her skin was dusky, certainly, but her features were fully human, and not unlovely, though they, too, were strong. She wore her dark hair in many tiny braids, all bunched together in a band at the nape of her neck. She had a greatsword strapped to her back.

"She's Rashemi," Casavir observed. "Ferocious fighters, it is said, and honorable, though I've never met any."

"Well, here's your chance," Kayla replied. "If she wins, you can go against her."

"No, my lady," he said quickly, "I have no liking for such things."

She shrugged. It was probably true. They had only been staying at the Flagon for a day, but the paladin had not yet spoken to anyone outside their own party, even Duncan. And he had not initiated dialogue with any of her companions besides Khelgar or herself, and he had been in their constant company for a couple of tendays. No, Casavir was unlikely to start up a conversation with a stranger out of curiosity. Besides, paladins were probably not permitted to gamble.

Bishop was taunting his opponent, insulting her mannish appearance and asking her if she would not rather be home tending the babies... assuming she had found a man desperate enough to mount a woman as brutish as herself. Kayla despised him for his treatment of her.

The Rashemi was doing well, though she had not yet managed to get Bishop's knuckles to actually touch the table. It had already gone on for quite some time. The faces of both were contorted with the strain, and both shone with perspiration. In the end, Bishop won. Kayla cursed. She had wanted the woman to win badly, though she had no money riding on the match.

Qara was just arriving with a fresh round of ale, so Kayla took her new tankard and offered it to the Rashemi woman.

"You did well," Kayla said. "You must be thirsty."

"I lost," the other woman said. Kayla startled at her voice. She had expected it to be deep, but it was not. It was higher in pitch than her own, and rather pleasant.

"Still, you could have bettered any of the others," Kayla replied. "And Bishop does not fight fair. If he'd kept his own elbow on the mark, you would have beaten him. Why did you not stop the match, when you saw that he was cheating?"

"I saw him do it before," she said. "I knew what I faced. I am Kaiya."

"Our names are almost alike!" Kayla laughed. "I'm Kayla. Would you sit with us?"

"I should like that," Kaiya said,"but I should go to bed. I leave at first light for Icewind Dale. I thank you for the offer."

"Now there's a woman," Khelgar observed appreciatively, when Kayla returned to the table. "Too bad she wouldn't stay."

"Yes," Kayla agreed. "She seemed nice. Much more pleasant than some rangers, anyway."

"Do I hear my name taken in vain?" Bishop was at her elbow. "What about you, Princess? I still have a couple more matches before I can take my winnings. I wouldn't mind taking your coin."

"As if I'd touch your hand!" Kayla retorted. "Besides, I'd never do anything that stupid. You'd crush me, without the belt."

"So wear it," Bishop shrugged. "This isn't the Icedragon Lodge, even if that last one looks like she came out of it. Nobody cares if the rules get bent a bit."

"I do," Kayla said.

"And if I swear to an honest match, will you do it?" he asked. "Or are you afraid of me?"

"I'm not afraid of you, Bishop," Kayla snaped. "I just don't like you."

"Aw, the little princess is afraid of the big, scary ranger," he taunted. "Here's your chance to take me down a peg. Come on. You know you're dying to do it."

"No..." Kayla had to admit that she was, and she just might stand a chance in a fair fight, if she were allowed to wear the strength belt. But despite her earlier assertions to Casavir that they could afford whatever he wanted to buy, including six horses, she was unwilling to throw her money away gambling. "I'm not wasting the coin on you."

"So it's the money, is it?" Bishop sneered. "Tell you what. I'll let you off without it. My pile of gold against a kiss from you. What do you say?"

"You're on," Kayla heard herself say, to her horror. Casavir grabbed her arm.

"Are you mad?" he said reprovingly. "There is no honor in this."

"She's already agreed, paladin," Bishop sneered. "She can't go back on it now. But my, that kiss is going to taste good."

The ranger licked his lips lewdly, then held out his arm to Kayla.

"Coming, Princess?"

It was embarrassing. She might as well have done it without the girdle, for all the help it gave her. He slammed her knuckles against the table without even breaking a sweat.

Bishop stood up, and yanked her to her feet. He put one rough arm around her waist and dragged her against his body. He reeked of ale and stale sweat.

"I'm going to enjoy this," he predicted.

"Not yet," Casavir interjected. "You may yet be challenged again. When wagers are made in kind, payment is deferred to the final outcome."

"Oh, ho!" Bishop snorted. "So the paladin thinks he can steal my prize, eh? You're welcome to try."

Bishop pushed Kayla away from him and sat back down. Casavir slapped a coin on the table and took the other bench.

"Sheild arm," Bishop said. "I've worn out the other with that she-bear."

Casavir sighed and looked over his shoulder at her. Kayla shrank from his gaze, ashamed that she had forced him to participate in something he found so distasteful to spare her honor.

The match went on forever. Sometimes, it looked like Casavir might win, but Bishop always recovered. Casavir used a shield, for the most part, and favored his sword arm, while Bishop did not appear to favor either hand. The paladin was putting everything he had into the match, she could see. His face was red and contorted, and the veins in his neck stood out like blue ropes against his skin, but he could not last forever. The ranger's endurance proved greater. Casavir's strength failed him.

"About time," Bishop panted. "I'll be having my prize now."

"No," Casavir said grimly. "You will not."

"I've had my five matches," the ranger protested. "I can walk away, and take my winnings. All of them... unless you want to sweeten the deal, Princess. I'll take His Holiness outside, in the yard, if you make it worth my while."

"You have no right to make that demand of her," the paladin said.

"I was thinking of a massage," he laughed, "though if she wants a roll in the linen afterward, I won't object. What do you say, Princess? Me against your dog, winner take all?"

"It's just a kiss, Casavir," Kayla said. "Revolting, I know, but I'll live."

"That is not the point," the paladin said. "I would not see you submit to that... filth."

"So I'll take that as a yes?" Bishop leered.

"I will meet you outside."

"Casavir, no," Kayla pleaded. "You've been through enough for my sake."

"Do not trouble yourself, my lady," he replied. "I know my duty."

"I'm sorry..." Kayla began, but Casavir was already back at their table, unbuckling his belt. "What are you doing?"

"I will not ruin new clothes in a brawl," he answered.

"Besides," Khelgar agreed, "the cloth makes it too easy to get a grip."

Bishop, too, was stripping down to his leggings. Kayla stared. The man might not be as massive as Khelgar, but he was muscular. His chest and shoulders looked like the front end of a horse, sleek and powerful... and hairy. For a moment, she almost wished she did not dislike the man so much. The idea of surrendering to that strong man's embrace did have a certain appeal.

Casavir had removed his tunic, but he left his shirt on until he was at the door. There, he took that off, too, handed it to Kayla, and stepped out into the rain. Kayla paused on the threshold, but the press of people behind her forced her out into the courtyard herself.

Bishop's bout with Kaiya had drawn a crowd, and they stayed for subsequent matches. Now that the combatants were taking it into the yard for some real blood sport, they would not be deterred by a little rain. Khelgar took his place by Kayla's side. Neeshka was at her other.

"It'll be all right, Lala," Khelgar rumbled. "Cas won't let you down."

Neeshka echoed his sentiment with a quick one-armed hug. Kayla just clutched his shirt to her chest and prayed.

"Mystra's miracles," the tiefling breathed, "it's a pity he's a paladin. Look at those shoulders!"

Kayla was looking. She couldn't tear her eyes away. His fair skin shone in the torchlight. Casavir was leaner than Bishop, but he was certainly no less powerfully built. That glimmer of flesh she had seen through the gap in his shirt had not prepared her for what she saw once he removed it. Casavir had no body hair to mar the taught lines of his torso. Maidens might lie awake at night, dreaming of such a man. But she could not bear to look long.

The match would end once one of the combatants had both of the other's shoulders to the ground for the count of three, but Kayla had no doubt that Bishop would kill the paladin, if he could.

"What in the nine hells is going on out here?" Duncan bellowed, elbowing his way through to the front. "I walk up from the cellar, and the lot of you... Kayla, why are there two half-naked men in my courtyard?"

"Hello, Duncan," Bishop grinned. "Come out to watch the show? I was just about to teach the paladin here a lesson about placing wagers."

"Oh," the half-elf shrugged. "Carry on. At least you aren't breaking the furniture, this time. What are the stakes?"

"I won forty gold, give or take, and Kayla owes me something a little more personal -"

"You'll leave her out of it," her uncle barked.

"Too late, old man," Bishop sneered. "She agreed to the terms."

"What are the terms?" Duncan asked her.

"A kiss and a massage," she muttered quickly, more ashamed of herself than ever.

Duncan rolled his eyes.

"Helm's hemorrhoids, haven't you people got anything better to do?" he complained. "Ah, well, if I can't talk you out of it, I'll make sure it's a fair fight. And send Sal and Qara around with drinks. This many people, somebody's got to be thirsty."

Ranger and paladin squared off to face each other. At Duncan's signal, they closed. Each gripped the other's arms, and they set about seeing which could overbear the other. Kayla held her breath. Casavir was a strong man, she knew, maybe even stronger than Bishop, but his height would be no advantage in a wrestling match. But Casavir surprised her. In a sudden, fluid movement, he hooked the ranger's calf with his ankle and caught him unbalanced. Bishop's flesh on the flagstones was like the sound of a joint of meat hitting the carving block.

Casavir had not won yet. He still had to pin the ranger. Kayla watched in awe as they wrestled. The ruddy torchlight danced on their wet bodies, flashes of orange against skin that glowed blue in the darkness. Their rain-slick hides prevented either man from getting a good hold, but they writhed on the ground like mad things.

Perhaps Bishop took Casavir for an easy mark. His first efforts were lazy, but the paladin's skill soon persuaded him to put some effort in it. He fought fiercely, and he fought dirty, but Casavir was ready for him. He gave it back as good as he got, or better. No matter how Bishop writhed, Casavir wound up on top. Bishop looked surprised, when Casavir finally pressed his shoulders to the stone. He tried to wriggle out from under the other man's weight, but he could not. Casavir had won.

"We have a winner!" Duncan cried, then spoke to Casavir in a normal voice. "Good work, son. I can't tell you how happy I am to see the smirk off Bishop's face, for a change."

Kayla handed him back his shirt. She could not meet his eyes. She was ashamed of her impulsiveness in agreeing to that stupid match with Bishop in the first place, and further humbled by Casavir's determination in defense of her honor.

"Where in the nine hells did you learn to fight like that?" Khelgar asked.

Casavir smiled grimly.

"Boys in the cloister are no different from boys in the Docks," he said.

"Makes me glad I'm getting some training there," Khelgar rumbled. "When are we seeing about that, anyway, Lala?"

"Um... another day or two, Khelgar," she said. She risked looking at Casavir, but his back was to her. Bishop threw a purse at the paladin.

"There's your winnings, fool," he spat.

"This is not necessary," Casavir protested.

"Fine by me," Bishop returned. "Loser claims any prize the winner doesn't want. So, Princess, about that kiss..."

Casavir turned to her, then.

"Forgive me," he whispered.

It was over before Kayla even knew it was happening. Casavir's lips brushed hers lightly, but he had kissed her.

* * *

Casavir stood nervously in the doorway of Kayla's room. He was loathe to go through with this, but the terms of the contest must be honored. If Casavir declined, Bishop would not hesitate to take what was owed him. Kissing The Lady had been bad enough, though he had tried to make it as pleasant as possible, under the circumstances. If he could not prevent it, at least he could keep it brief. But this... he would lie on her bed, and she would touch him. How could he possibly hope to control himself? He must. If he did not allow this, then Bishop would take his place, and the thought of The Lady submitting to that humiliation sickened him.

"Are you going in there or not?" Bishop's voice was behind him. The ranger had followed to ensure the terms were carried out. Casavir prayed that he would leave as soon as her hands touched him... No, he would leave himself, as soon as she had fulfilled a token of her obligations. He would not subject her to more.

She waited for him inside. He stepped into the room. The fire on the hearth was the only light. He crossed to the bed and sat down on the edge of it.

"Oh, no, Cas!" she laughed. "Boots off, please, or you'll be tracking mud all over my linens."

She had to help him with the boots. His hands were shaking too badly to undo the latchets. She touched his hand, stilling it.

"It will be all right," she breathed. "Let's just get Bishop out of here, all right?"

He willed himself to relax as she eased first one boot, then the other to the floor. He gasped when she started pulling his shirt over his head, but he allowed it. The sooner they could get this over with, the better.

He stretched out on Kayla's bed. That fresh, herbal scent he had so enjoyed the night before rose from it, but this time, it caused him no distress. Breathing it calmed him.

He heard the door close as soon as Kayla's hands touched him. He started to sit up, but she prevented him.

"Please allow this, Casavir," she said. "There is nothing improper in a massage, and it will do you good. I've rubbed Khelgar's back after a long march or heavy fighting, and Elanee's rubbed mine. Brother Merring says it's good for the humors. I don't know about that, but I know it eases out the cramps and gives you good rest. You certainly deserve it. Now relax."

He obeyed. She was right. Even as a junior man-at-arms, his duties had included easing the aches of his master, and when he was old enough and skilled enough to have juniors himself, they had done it for him. Sometimes, they had even been female, and he had never troubled himself over it.

She began gently, running her oiled hands over his back until he felt himself begin to relax. She must have sensed his growing calmness, because she began to increase the pressure, kneading his shoulders and running the heel of her hand along his spine.

It was bliss, lying here in a bed that smelled of herbs and apple-blossoms, with gentle hands easing away the strain of the last few weeks. Sometimes, it hurt, while she worked out a knot, but the relief it brought was incredible. And now, there were no more tangled sinews, only pure, untainted... stillness.

His eyes were closed. The only sounds in the room were his own breathing and the crackle of the fire. It was quiet, and it was warm. He never knew when sleep stole over him.

* * *

Kayla closed the door behind her. Casavir was asleep, and there was no need to wake him. She could find another room for the night. She considered the simple expedient of sleeping in Casavir's, but decided against it. As tempting as it might be to curl up in his linens, the intimacy would be too much.

"Have you got a free room tonight, Uncle Duncan?" she asked, once she had found him.

"Fifteen's free," he answered. "But what's the matter with yours?"

"Er... Casavir fell asleep, and I didn't have the heart to wake him."

The half-elf raised an eyebrow at that.

"So," he said disapprovingly, "have you had enough trouble-making for one night? I've got nothing against a few coins changing hands over a barrel, but you're too old to be playing spin-the-bottle. And if you aren't, those two certainly are. They're playing for real, Kayla, even if you aren't."

"It isn't what you think," she protested. "It isn't like that at all."

"Oh? Then tell me why you've got a paladin sleeping in your bed? You know he never would have taken that bet unless you pushed him into it. And if he lost, Bishop probably wouldn't have stopped with a backrub. I can keep Bishop where I can see him, but you're going to be traveling with Casavir every day. I've got nothing against paladins, and he's better company than some, but he's meant for better things than we are, Kayla. He won't forget where his real duty lies, and you'll just get hurt."

"I... no, Uncle," she sank to a barstool and accepted the tankard he pushed toward her, "you're right. I'll behave."

"Good girl," he smiled, patting her hand. "Now how about you finish your ale and help your uncle clear the tables?"


	18. Going So Soon?

_The sporadically remembered Disclaimer: Obsidian owns everybody but Kayla, almost every word of Aldanon's dialogue, a small part of Sgt. Brockenburn's, and some of the Archive dialogue._

_Note: big chapter, this time, wrapping things up and moving on_

* * *

Casavir woke in a bed that was not his own. He shook the sleep from his eyes, but no, when he opened them again, the bed was still not his. He reached for the Hammer of Justice, that always stood beside his bed, but it was not there. His fumbling upset a table. Something fell to the floor with the sound of breaking pottery. A strong odor of mint and apple-blossoms rose a moment after the sound. It was familiar... though he was too groggy to place it.

He lay on his belly, with his head resting on his folded arms. He turned over and sat up. A gown was draped over the back of one chair, and a brush and comb lay on the washstand, where a man's razor might rest. A woman's room, then... but why? He did not take company... but he had. He had gone to The Lady's bedroom to claim the second half of the prize he had stolen from Bishop. He must have fallen asleep during the massage, and lain here the night through.

He did not bother to suppress his relief that she was not here beside him. He could not have borne that. It was bad enough that he would be seen leaving her bedchamber at... what was the hour, anyway? The sun was well up. Had his presence interfered with her devotions? And where had she slept, if he was in her bed?

He was in her bed... no, he must not dwell on that. He had done no wrong, nor had she. She had pleased him greatly, perhaps, but not in any improper way. The Lady was blameless, still, though he had to fight back his resentment that she had placed him in that position. He had wanted neither the kiss nor the massage, though he endured both. Endured? No, he had thrilled at the first, though he had done his best to treat her as the chaste lady she was, and he had delighted in the second. That, at least, had been... he had no words. He had come to her chamber aching from two tendays without even the comfort of his camp bed, and his discomfort had been increased by his exertions of the evening, but this morning, he was as free from pain as he was from guilt over his conduct with Bishop.

Still, he had inconvenienced her, so he must atone. But no, there was no service he could do her that he was not already sworn to perform. She would forgive him, and he would have to be content.

First, he had to leave the room. His foot slid in something oily. He had broken her bottle of perfume. He would have to buy her more. He did his best to clean up the mess, but the scent had soaked into the wooden floor. A room could smell of worse things.

He fumbled with the door. It was locked, and he had no key... but no, one rested on the washstand. She must have locked the door from the outside with Duncan's key, and left hers for him, as he had done the night before. He opened the door... and walked into Bishop. The man's face registered shock, but he got over it quickly. He said nothing to the paladin, but leered evilly.

The ranger would know he spent the night, and would likely think that she spent it with him. His mind recoiled at the opportunities the ranger would have to besmirch her reputation. The bastard need only say that he had seen Casavir leaving her room. He cursed his sloth at giving in to sleep, but something troubled him... something else. For just a moment, he had felt smug that Bishop should harbor the mistaken assumption that he had... been her lover.

_I am in this too far,_ he thought. _I must be more guarded. These children's games are not for you, paladin. You serve a higher cause._

His own bedroom was empty. He had feared she might have taken refuge here, but no, the door was still locked, as it had been when he left it. He washed and dressed himself quickly. Why had he slept so late? They had six horses to buy, and must be at the entrance to Blacklake by a candle past noon.

Khelgar and Elanee were already eating their breakfasts when he arrived. Qara was on the other side of the room, bringing tankards to bleary-eyed guests.

"I hear you're buying horses this morning," Elanee greeted him.

"Yes," he said. "You were not present when we discussed it the other night, and I had forgotten to ask, but do you ride?"

"I prefer to walk," she said, "but I do ride, when required."

"Excellent... Elanee, I remember your rapport with the wolves, in Logram's lair. Would you accompany us, this morning? Your insight would be invaluable."

"Gladly," she answered.

Casavir cleared his throat.

"Has anyone seen..." he swallowed.

"She left just before you arrived," Khelgar answered the question he'd been unable to finish.

He got up and placed his breakfast order with Sal. He was in a hurry, so it would have to be bread and butter. He went back to the table with his plate in his hand.

The Lady was on the stair. She had changed her clothes, and she carried a long, cloth-wrapped bundle. He fought the urge to go help her with it. It was not big enough to be heavy, and he really did need to show more restraint toward her, so he took his meal back to the table and sat down, though he was unable to stop himself from standing again when she reached the table.

"I have something for you, Casavir," she smiled. "Neeshka found it for me, and I haven't been able to part with it. I can't use it, but you can."

It was a greatsword. He could feel the shape of the blade through the cloth. He unwrapped it eagerly.

It was... beautiful. It was golden-colored, with a graceful, well-proportioned hilt and etchings along the flat of the finely balanced blade. The hilt was bound with pale leather. Casavir was no mage, but he could feel the enchantments wrapped around the weapon. Would she always be giving him precious things, when all he gave her was rubbish?

Repeating her gesture at the gift of his cloak, he brushed his lips against her cheek. She blushed.

"What...?" she began.

"Thank you for the gift of the blade," Casavir replied. "It is a precious thing, beautiful and well-made."

She beamed.

"Sand tells me that it is called the Shining Light of Lathander," she told him. "It carries enchantments against undead, and perhaps some more mundane magics as well. You can probably tell better than I what it does."

"Indeed," he said, "it is a princely gift!"

"Then I am glad you shall have it," she said, still smiling. "Horses, this morning?"

"Yes, my lady," he replied. "Elanee has agreed to go with us, to give us her insight."

"Thanks, El," she said, "I hadn't thought of that, but it's a wonderful idea."

"You know, Casavir," Elanee said, "I really enjoyed watching you wrestle Bishop last night."

Casavir blinked. He had no appropriate response to that. He had enjoyed it, too, to confess the truth. It had felt good to release some of the animosity he felt toward the man... and his victory had felt like a moral one, too. No matter what advantage the ranger had sought, with the hair-pulling and jabs to the kidneys, he had triumphed, using nothing more than the skills he had picked up as a novice. He had been honest when he told Khelgar that boys would wrestle, whether they were young paladins or street urchins, and he had started with a disadvantage. Most came to the calling in later childhood, but he had done so at a very early age. It had taken him a long time to catch up to the other boys in size, so he had needed speed and skill to compete. By the time he took his vows, he was the school's best brawler. It was not an achievement he was proud of, but it was part of his life.

Elanee was still speaking.

"... felt almost at home," she went on. "It was certainly natural enough. In many species, the males compete for territory and dominance, and the right to mount the females, of course."

Casavir choked.

"Please, Elanee," he said, once he found his voice, "we are not animals. If you must know, it was an appalling spectacle, and one I hope never to see repeated. Let us never speak of it again."

"Thank you," said a faint voice to his right. The Lady's face was crimson. Despite his gratitude for the massage and the sword, he could not bring himself to relieve her embarrassment, this once. If she was ashamed of forcing him to perform like a trained bear, that was just... What was he thinking? She was a child, learning her lessons the hard way. Everyone did, and sometimes, it was unpleasant. He owed her compassion. Not knowing what else to do, he patted her hand. She smiled at him, and it felt good.

"Are you done eating, Casavir?" The Lady asked. "We should go soon. The morning is nearly half over."

They did not have to go far to find a horse trader. Slaughter houses, tanneries, dyers, brewers, all had their businesses here in the Docks, where there were only poor people to offend. The stink of the fish, and of the other odorous trades would easily overpower the smell of the horses.

They all went to the horse trader. A horse must suit its rider, so Qara and Grobnar, Neeshka and even Khelgar must go. At least the pack horse would be no trouble.

It did not take them long to find a horse for Elanee. The smoky black gelding walked up to her at once and nuzzled her shoulder in greeting. Shadow would be hers, and she was pleased.

Casavir insisted on geldings. Minnow was a stallion, so they could risk no mares or other stallions. It took a lot of discipline, and no small amount of physical strength, to control a stallion who smelled a mare in season, or who wanted to fight another full male, and the paladin would just as soon be spared the effort. As for the others, most of them would have enough trouble just staying on a horse, without worrying about bending it away from those instincts Elanee had alluded to earlier.

Next, they found Khelgar his horse. It was a stout, ugly piebald thing, but both Elanee and Neeshka agreed that the horse was sound, despite its big head and short legs, and Khelgar seemed to like it. It's name was Toblin, but the dwarf clept it Tubby at once. They put the dwarf up on the horse and had them walk a few times around the paddock. Khelgar complained, but declared Tubby might do for him.

The tiefling was a surprisingly good judge of horseflesh. Casavir had nearly chosen a gray for his leader, and Elanee said the horse was willing, but it was Neeshka that spotted the slight deformity in its knee. They needed sound horses, so the gray was sent back to its stall.

Neeshka found herself one she liked, a dun called Twigs, for the odd stripe-like markings on its forelegs, and Qara insisted that she have that glossy black monster, Blue. Casavir was not best pleased with Blue. He suspected the horse was a biter, but Qara wanted him, Neeshka pronounced him sound, and Elanee had nothing to say about him at all, so Qara got the horse she wanted.

It had been difficult finding a horse for his leader. He wanted a light, quick horse for her. She would be no burden for any horse, even if she rode with Grobnar, and he wanted something fast enough to outrun any potential danger, but she was simply not a good enough rider to manage a high-strung mount. Elanee found one for her, in the end, a docile bay with the appealing name of Peaches. He would do, though, Casavir said. He might not be as fleet as he wanted, but Peaches would not likely try to scrape her off his back any time they walked through the woods, either, nor would he spook if he saw a rabbit.

Even after they bought their packhorse, Scrumpy, a large, sturdy bay beast with a placid temperament, they still had gold enough to buy at least one more horse, if they desired it. Casavir was undecided. He neither trusted the gnome on his own horse nor felt that he could manage one, but he did not want to inconvenience his leader, either. From what he had seen of her skill while trying out this horse and that, she might have over-estimated her riding experience. If she had ridden farm horses, it must have been a very long time ago.

"Can we get him a pony?" she asked, once Casavir had voiced his concerns.

"Too slow," he rejected the idea.

"His legs aren't all that much shorter than Khelgar's," Neeshka observed. "Maybe if we shorten the stirrups all the way to the saddle skirts, he'll be all right."

"I suppose we have little choice," the paladin admitted. "But we had better find a small horse."

The gnome squealed gleefully at the announcement that he would be getting a horse of his own. Casavir just waited patiently for him to get over his raptures before setting him upon his first choice, a palomino. Grobnar fell off before he'd taken six steps. The tiny bard was unhurt, though, and game for another chance. Once again, Casavir lifted him, and set him on the palomino's back. This time, he was thrown. The paladin ran to him, but he was not injured. He only sat there in the dirt, looking stunned, but otherwise sound.

"Well, that was certainly exciting!" Grobnar giggled, once he'd gotten over the surprise at his unexpected launch. "But maybe we'd better try a different horse."

Casavir agreed.

"How about this one?" Elanee suggested, leading a small sorrel forward.

"I don't like his markings," the paladin said, eying the gelding's socks.

"It's just hair, Cas," Neeshka said. "And you're a cute little guy, aren't you, Pluck?"

In the end, they bought Grobnar his Pluck. He did well enough on the horse, and sat proudly on the creature's back, grinning and clucking "Giddyap!" though the horse wisely ignored him.

They rode back to the Flagon. Minnow was already lodged in Duncan's stables, so Casavir walked while the others rode, but they went slowly. Khelgar, at least, was having enough trouble staying on Toblin at a walk. He clutched the reins nervously, and kept grabbing at his saddle. Casavir walked beside him, correcting his grip on the reins, tapping the hand that kept reaching for the saddle, adjusting his feet in the stirrups, and praising him whenever he saw the dwarf doing something right.

"We've got one candle to be at Blacklake," his leader observed. "Do we have time to change?"

"Yes, but we must be swift" Casavir said. "Duncan's porter can get the horses stabled, and I'd be happier in armor."

"We're going to meet a sage, Cas," she protested. "What danger can there be in that?"

"You are allowed into Blacklake as a Watchman," he said sternly. "You had better dress like one. Leave your gowns for later."

_I'm ordering her around again,_ he fretted. _And I forgot to tell her about the scent bottle._

He tapped on her door, then entered at her invitation. She still wore the tunic of leggings she had worn that morning, and had begun to arm herself.

"I broke your scent jar," he said. "Where can I go to replace it?"

"Sand makes it up for me," she said. "But you don't have to do that, Cas. It isn't expensive, and I go see Sand just about every day when I'm in town."

"I want to, my lady," he said firmly, then excused himself to see to his own arming and devotions.

* * *

"Casavir, Alavar's son?" their Watch escort asked, when Kayla and company had made their introductions. "But how could you be anyone else? You're the spit and image of your sire, and if you're half the man he was, I'd be honored to shake your hand. Fine man, your father, and the Watch never knew a better... present company excepted."

The grizzled Watchman stole a guilty look at Kayla.

"Thank you, Sergeant..." Kayla heard the paladin mutter.

"Brockenburn, sir," the old man supplied helpfully, "sergeant of the Watch. Been assigned to Blacklake these twenty years, but I was in the Docks before that, and served with your father, Tyr give him peace."

"I didn't know your father was a Watchman," Kayla said curiously, falling in step with Casavir.

"He died when I was very young," he replied tersely. "We are nearly there, my lady."

Kayla stifled her next question. She had been eager to talk to Sergeant Brockenburn, hoping she might learn something about her... friend, but the subject clearly made Casavir uncomfortable. A pity. Casavir said nothing of himself, or his life before Old Owl Well. She did not even know how old he was. That bothered her. He was a man in his prime, certainly, but he did not look old. He must be younger than Brother Merring, whom she knew to be nearing forty winters. He might be of an age with Georg Redfell, perhaps, and that would put him around thirty. And Kayla knew that no one spoke ill of the loquacious militia leader for fancying Seline Lannon, who had a summer less than Kayla. No, they criticized his love of gossip and idle speculation, and that was just what Kayla was doing, at the moment.

"So do you see much, here in Blacklake?" she asked the sergeant.

"Not much gets past these old eyes," he said happily. "I know every rumor, every tawdry bit of gossip, every love affair that goes on behind these walls."

"Must be a very boring post," she laughed.

"You have no idea," the older man rolled his eyes. "Still, I'm grateful for the rest, at my age. Such a pity these murders have everything in such a state. Still, I have faith. They'll find the bastard that's done these killings, and then everything can go back to the way it was. And here we are. Aldanon's estate."

"Thank you, sergeant," she said. "I think we can take it from here."

"I'm sorry, my lady," the old Watchman said, "but I can't let you do that. My orders were to see you to Aldanon's door, and then see you back to the gate when you're done."

The old sergeant rapped smartly on the door for her and withdrew. Kayla smiled at his devotion to duty, though she suspected the man was just as thankful to sit on the bench in Aldanon's garden and watch the world go by.

A querulous voice on the other side of the door asked them a score of questions and requested a dozen passwords, but after Kayla identified herself as being with the Watch, the door opened and she was shown into a well-appointed parlor... if, by "well-appointed," one meant "books on every flat surface."

An older man joined them after a moment. He was tall, taller than Casavir, perhaps, though he was round-shouldered with too many years huddled over books, and looked shorter.

"Ah, well met, well met," he said, "please forgive my rather rude questions at the door. I would never intentionally stand in the way of the City Watch... well, unless there was nowhere else left to stand, really. But that wouldn't happen unless there was a flood."

Kayla almost laughed aloud, but covered her amusement with a quick sip of the wine they had been given on their arrival.

"I must confess," he went on, "normally I'm rather, well, reclusive. Not that I dislike people, mind you - quite the contrary."

He might or might not like people, but Kayla was already quite disposed to like _him_. He just kept on talking.

"But lately with all the troubles - a murderer on the loose and young nobles sneaking around, up to who knows what - I've had to place wards around my home."

"You've warded your home?" Kayla asked. The man must be more than just some garrulous scholar.

"Ah, yes, tsk, tsk. Lately I've seen figures sneaking around in the dark, and not that well-meaning sort of sneaking, either," his voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "It's obvious what they want."

"What's that?" she asked.

"Why, my house, of course!" he replied. "As if I would ever sell it - ridiculous. I'd sooner give up my left eye... But my right annoys me at times, so that would be an easier sell."

Neeshka snorted at that. Kayla swatted her. It was just the four of them, today. Qara had to work, and Grobnar wanted to write a ballad about horses, and Elanee was getting to know hers. Only Khelgar and Neeshka had accompanied her... and Casavir, of course. She would rather have left her boots at home than leave it without the paladin.

"In any event," the sage went on, "back when I first settled in Neverwinter, my humble abode was on the outskirts of Blacklake, bordering acres of untouched wilderness... beautiful, it was, then. Now with Neverwinter rebuilt and expanded, following all that plague nonsense, my property went from the periphery to being right on the main thoroughfare of the 'rich' part of Neverwinter."

The last part sounded like a curse. What could Aldanon have against rich people? Well, apart from the fact that he might be expected to give up his home to make room for them, that is.

"All the nobility wants to live in Blacklake," he said, "but there's no more room. So lately they've been trying various ways to convince me to sell my land."

"What have they been trying to do?" Kayla asked.

"First they tried offering me _ridiculous_ sums of gold. What do I need with more gold?" Aldanon snorted.

"I wish more people would give that question a little thought," Neeshka muttered. Kayla ignored her.

"Next they tried making loud noises late at night," the old man continued. "But I need little sleep, so the only thing they accomplished was scaring away the nightbirds that raid my garden, for which I thanked them. Lately they must be getting desperate because most nights I can look out and see them watching me."

"Are you sure they're nobles?" Kayla asked.

"Of course," he said dismissively. "Who else would sneak around my home... well, present company excluded."

He blinked.

"Oh, that's right," he said, "you came here for a reason, yes?"

"It's a long story..." Kayla began, then told him about the attack on West Harbor, about the silver shard she found in the ruins in the swamp, and about the shard Duncan had given her, and how it had flattened everyone when the two were brought together. The sage listened with rapt attention, absentmindedly sipping the wine he had placed next to his ink pot, and only getting them wrong once.

"Great Tyr! What a tale!" he exclaimed. "The moment you arrived I knew I'd be interested in meeting you - wish I'd known that when I first greeted you, would have saved some time. You've certainly come to the right place. A while ago I found another shard, don't remember where, with properties similar to the ones you possess. I've done every possible test on the shard but learned little. However, I've never had another shard to compare it against. If you'd like some answers, I'll gladly run some tests on your shards. I have just enough quicksilver to do it."

"Certainly," Kayla said, passing him the cloth-wrapped bundle, "here you go."

He seized the package and scampered off.

Aldanon was gone quite some time, a candle, perhaps, but a servant had refreshed their wine glasses, then come back in with a tray of fruit, bread, cheese, and cold sliced meats. Kayla had eaten a good breakfast, so she would last until dinner, but Casavir's morning meal had been scant, and Khelgar was always willing to eat.

And then, Aldanon was back. He strode toward them, chattering excitedly.

"My tests are complete," he said. "With another shard to use as a comparison... well, I learned quite a bit. Quite a lot, actually. It appears these shards contain latent magical energy, either caused by a strong enchantment from when they were whole... or from their method of destruction."

He took a big gulp of wine, from Kayla's glass, in his distraction, then went on.

"Furthermore," he said, "the shards resonate when they are brought together, increasing their magical energy output accordingly."

_Perhaps that explains why Aldanon seems like he's buzzing,_ Kayla thought. _Or maybe he's always like that._

"These shards are pieces of a broken githyanki silver sword," he said. "Are you familiar with the githyanki?"

"I'd be interested in hearing what you know about them," Kayla replied.

"The githyanki are a race of beings that dwell on the Astral plane," he explained, "led by Vlaakith, the Lich Queen. Not a nice woman, I hear. Ages ago, the ancestors of the githyanki were human, and inhabited another plane of existence, where they were enslaved by the illithids, or mind flayers. Then came Gith. Little is known about her outside the githyanki, but she led the rebellion to free her people of the illithids, and is considered the hero and founder of the githyanki people."

He scooted closer, on the edge of his seat.

"Now," he went on, "the githyanki silver swords are forged with the special purpose of severing the silver cord that connects the form of an astrally projecting traveler to his or her material counterpart. They look like a regular githyanki weapon, until used in combat, at which point they turn into a column of flowing, shimmering liquid, really quite amazing, I'm told."

Kayla really did have to laugh at his excitement over the Gith swords, but he was too happy babbling about it to notice. He was still talking.

"I believe the shards that you have found are pieces of one of these silver swords," he said. "I presume the githyanki have come to Faerûn to recover the shards."

He then went on to explain how the Gith treasured these swords, revering them above all other weapons, and only entrusting them to their most trusted knights. Should one of these blades fall into the hands of a non-githyanki, they would stop at nothing to recover it, deploying special servants of the Lich Queen, Sword Stalkers. He gave her his shard, then, saying he did not need it, but she might have use for it.

"But is there anything more you can tell me about these shards?" she asked.

"I wish I knew more," Aldanon said. "Ammon Jerro was the real expert. He actually possessed a silver sword."

"Who's he?" Kayla asked.

"Ammon Jerro? Oh, he was a court wizard of Neverwinter decades ago. I met him a few times. He was a nice fellow... a little absent-minded, with a tendency to drift off the subject... Ammon Jerro reminded me of my old mentor Master Grahler. Had the largest collection of noisy, exotic birds, made quite a racket, you know, chirping and squawking..."

Casavir cleared his throat.

"Where can I find him?" Kayla asked.

"Master Grahler? He died years ago, I'm afraid. Got caught in a wild surge and polymorphed into a worm, as I understand it. Quite tragic, really... Oh! You mean Ammon Jerro. He's dead, too, I hear, though I don't know how it happened. No one does, really. He wanted it that way, to leave life as quietly as he entered it. It is sad in this age when the passing of a humble scholar and indistinct court wizard barely warrants a footnote in history. It makes me wonder... will anyone remember me when I am gone?"

"You will not be forgotten, Aldanon," Kayla said, impulsively patting his hand. He smiled beatifically at her.

"That's kind of you to say," he said. "But unlike Ammon Jerro, I will not be survived by any family."

He then told Kayla how Ammon Jerro had a daughter, and how that daughter, or her descendants might still be alive.

Aldanon also suggested that Ammon Jerro kept extensive notes and journals, and these documents might be found in his haven, which was... Aldanon could not remember. Maybe he never knew. Anyway, Ammon Jerro's daughter would know, so find the daughter, and Kayla could find the haven. As it happened, information of her whereabouts might be found at the Neverwinter Archives, in the Vault. Aldanon was not permitted in there. It had something to do with a misplaced tome. Nevertheless, if Kayla talked to Administrator Cotenick, he'd let her in.

Kayla thanked Aldanon, and the party took their leave... after she nudged Khelgar awake.

Sergeant Brockenburn was waiting for them outside.

"Sergeant," Kayla said, "I would like to make a stop at the Neverwinter Archives. It will not take long."

"Impossible, sir," the sergeant said. "My orders were to see you to Aldanon's and then to see you back to the gate."

"_Lieutenant_ Kayla has requested it, sergeant," Casavir reminded him.

"She isn't my lieutenant," Brockenburn shrugged, "but I'll do it for Alavar's sake. Good man, your father, saved my hide more than once."

"Your actions, too, may save lives, sergeant," Kayla said. "A little village in a swamp, many leagues from here, may be saved by them."

* * *

Kayla had expected the archives to be quiet as a tomb. She had not expected them to be a tomb, in truth. In the entry vestibule, she tripped over the body of a dying monk. He clutched a scrap of black cloth in his hands. More bodies lay around him, but he was the only still-living soul in the room.

Kayla's spell was on her lips immediately. With her healing spell, the man recovered enough to speak.

"Githyanki," he gasped, "in the archives! You must stop them! The books!"

"We will," Kayla promised, preparing another spell. The man was still to badly wounded to rise. "But I can help you. One more healing spell will get you on your feet."

"You must protect the Vault," he went on, more strongly after Kayla's second spell hit him. He was able to sit. "All our most precious records are there. You will need the key, but I cannot give it to you."

"I don't understand," Kayla said.

"The questions change..." he shook his head. "To open the Vault, you need to answer four questions, one at each of the four cardinal compass points of the room. There is a book on a pedestal, and in each book is written a single question. You need to answer all four questions. I cannot give you the answers, because the questions are different each time the book is opened. The answers can be found in the books on the shelves, but there are thousands of them. Before I say more, I need to know: Are you a loyal servant of Neverwinter? Do you vow to uphold her laws and defend her people?"

"Yes!" Kayla all but shouted. "I swear it!"

Casavir nodded his approval.

"To read the questions, you need to look at them through the Veil," the monk said. "Take one off my fallen brethren. They will not mind the sacrifice, for the cause of Truth. Go now, and save those books!"

"But you are still injured!" she protested.

"Keep your spell," he answered. "If you are victorious, I will be safe enough here. If you are not, your spell will not save me."

She left him reluctantly, but she had little choice. If the githyanki were pillaging the archives, she had a responsibility to stop them.

They found the githyanki guarding each of the pedestals, but they were few in number, with no more than three guarding each. They fell quickly... too quickly, Kayla felt, but she could not argue.

With that done, she donned the veil. The very first question stumped her. It was a code. She was no good at cyphers! She could barely do sums! Neeshka, it happened, did not share her handicap. She answered swiftly, and she was right. Kayla thought she heard a distant chime.

The next question, too, baffled her. It was something about the strategic importance of some ancient Neverwinter sea battle. She'd never even heard of it. Casavir had the answer to that one, though, and again, Kayla heard the chime.

The third question was easy, Kayla thought. It was about making salves for biting flies, and if anybody knew about that, it would be someone from a swamp. Kayla answered right on the first try. Again, the chime.

Only one question left. If this one came out of a book, it was like no book Kayla had ever seen. It was a logic puzzle. Khelgar threw up his hands in exasperation and Neeshka sat down on a stack of books to pout, but Kayla had not come all this way to be thwarted by a book. She stared at the question.

"May I have a look, my lady?" Casavir asked.

"Help yourself," she shrugged, handing him the veil. It looked rather silly, a piece of Calishite silk draped over the face of an armored warrior, but she held her tongue. It had probably looked just as ridiculous on her.

He sighed and handed her back the scrap of silk.

"It's no use," he said. "It's just not coming to me."

"Let's both look," Kayla suggested. "Maybe you'll see something I'm missing, and vice versa. It might work."

He shrugged, but he took his place beside her. They stood face to face, with their bodies nearly touching. If they turned their heads toward the book and placed their faces together, the veil was just big enough to cover one eye apiece.

"Do you think that...?" Kayla asked.

"Yes... and that?"

"I think so. What about 'the fourth from the left'?" They all could hear that chime. It rang out through the building. It sounded like it was coming from the building's center.

Stuffing the veil in her belt, she ran for the sound, her three loyal ones right behind her... but so did the remaining githyanki, the ones Kayla had not seen, and they were closer.

"So!" one of the creatures cried. "One of Jerro's descendants lives! Zeeaire will be pleased! I will go to her at once. The rest of you, destroy these interlopers!"

The githyanki who had spoken simply winked out of existence. Perhaps he teleported. Kayla did not have time to speculate further, because they were soon fighting for their lives. Still, there were only six githyanki, and four of them, so the fight was relatively quick. Kayla took a ball of energy to the gut that had knocked the wind out of her, and Casavir had a gash on his forehead from ducking a ray of something or other and banging his head on a table, but apart from that, they had come out of it all right.

The githyanki had torn a page from the record, but from surrounding pages, Kayla was able to piece together enough information to identify Ammon Jerro's last living kin: Shandra Jerro.

"Shandra?" Neeshka squealed incredulously. "The Highcliff girl with the flammable barn?"

"We need to get to her, and quick," Khelgar rumbled. "The githyanki are probably heading there right now."

Kayla swore, but it would do them no good. Highcliff was a tenday away, on the road... or three by sea, if she could find a fast ship. Where else could she find a ship, but at the Docks? Back to the Sunken Flagon!

* * *

"Pack only what you need," Kayla said. "We won't be gone long."

"But we just got here!" Qara wailed.

"Captain Flinn sails with the evening tide," Kayla tried to be patient, "and that's only three candles away."

"It won't take three candles to pack and get to the dock," Qara protested. "They're just at the other end of the street."

"Yes," Kayla agreed, "but now you have to pack for someone else... or something else. Captain Flinn has room for the horses, so we're taking them. That means fodder and water for three days... better make it five, in case of bad weather, and you've got to get your tackle together, as well. We should get to the Double Eagle a candle early, to allow enough time for everything to be loaded."

"And these fleabags are going to save us time how, exactly?" Khelgar scowled.

Kayla sighed. She was starting to wonder that herself, though she knew the answer. They might be able to sail to Highcliff in three days, but she did not have enough gold for the return trip. Captain Flinn had agreed on the price of fifteen hundred gold for them, twenty-five hundred for them and their horses, and his prices were roughly half of what other sea captains would charge her. As he would be going on to Ulgoth's Beard from Highcliff, and Baldur's Gate from there, and who knows where after that, she would be obliged to use a different ship for the return trip, and she had only four thousand gold remaining. They would be riding back.

"Going so soon?" Duncan moaned, when she told him the news. "You just got here."

"I know, Uncle," Kayla sighed. "I'd like to stay longer, myself, but a woman's life is in danger."

"I know, girl," he said, "and you're doing the right thing. Just wish you could have found all this out next week, sometime, after Qara had more of a chance to get on my nerves."

Kayla embraced her uncle and started for the stair, but he caught her hand.

"Kayla," he said, "about last night... I'm sorry for what I said. I've got no right to be telling you how to live your life. You're still young, and you've got enough weight on your shoulders without some old fool laying on a load of guilt."

"No, Uncle Duncan," Kayla said fondly, "you were right. I won't be gone long, a tenday and a half, maybe two, at most. You will take care of yourself, won't you."

"And you do the same," he replied, smiling. He hugged her and gave her a kiss on the forehead, then shooed her off to finish her packing. If Kayla had been unlucky enough not to get the father she wanted, Tymora had certainly given her a good uncle.


	19. Aboard the Double Eagle

_Disclaimer: Obsidian owns everybody but Kayla._

* * *

For perhaps the first time in the recorded history of Neverwinter, weather on the Sea of Swords proved cooperative. The seas were calm and the winds, favorable. By morning, Neverwinter was far behind, and by nightfall, Captain Flinn announced that they were halfway to Highcliff. He predicted that if the wind held, they might put into port the morning after next, or even earlier, if they could catch the evening tide.

Kayla thanked him for the news. She would be glad to be back on dry land again. She did not suffer seasickness, as Khelgar did, nor Elanee's crippling ennui, but in the close quarters of a ship, her companions' low spirits and boredom affected her acutely.

There was not much to do, at sea. Three times a day, they tended the horses, feeding, watering, and grooming them... and mucking out the hold, but that was their only real job on board the ship. Khelgar's infirmity kept him below decks, and Elanee was too lethargic to leave her bunk, but Neeshka, Qara, and Grobnar amused themselves playing cards, or Grobnar would act out mis-remembered bits of plays he'd seen. Casavir kept to himself. Unless he was teaching them to care for their horses' hooves or some such, he could usually be found at the bow, reading or staring off into the waves. Kayla spent her time checking in on everyone. Kayla was not troubled by Khelgar's or Elanee's condition. Khelgar would be fine as soon as he got one foot on land, and on the trip from Highcliff to Neverwinter, Elanee had recovered as soon as she started hearing land birds again. Casavir's self-imposed isolation worried her, but he seemed content. He greeted her cheerfully enough, but he went back to his reading as soon as she bid him farewell, without even waiting for her to turn away.

That evening, Captain Flinn invited them to share his mess. Kayla gratefully accepted. They had brought their own provisions, of course, since an invitation to dine at the captain's table was by no means guaranteed, but they brought trail rations, and dinner with Captain Flinn would make them last that much longer. Besides, the captain might not be a jovial man, but he was affable, and Kayla found conversation with him enjoyable. Khelgar was too indisposed to risk dinner, and Elanee had no appetite, but everyone else would go.

Qara flirted with the poor captain outrageously. It upset Kayla, since they were so dependent on Captain Flinn's goodwill, but he seemed to enjoy it, in a quiet way. He made no apparent sign of reciprocating her interest, but he smiled at her jests and endured her flatteries like a true gentleman. Neeshka, too, seemed to be enjoying herself, chatting with Captain Flinn's first mate, a Sembian woman whose name Kayla could not pronounce. Grobnar could amuse himself in an empty room, so she did not worry on his account. Casavir... where was Casavir?

They were nine at dinner: Captain Flinn, Kayla, Neeshka, Qara, Grobnar, the Sembian first officer, and three other men, but none of them were paladin-shaped. And there was one extra chair at the table.

Kayla worried, but she could not offend her host by leaving before he put his napkin on the table to signify the end of the meal. Captain Flinn did not seem to be in any hurry for this to happen. First, he would call for wine, then, he would offer them cheese and nuts, and then, more wine.

_Ilmater's mercy, do none of his officers have some urgent job to do on this ship?_ Kayla wondered.

"Captain Flinn," she said suddenly, "you have an outstanding crew."

"Why thank you, Kayla," he grinned. "I agree, of course, but it's kind of you to say so."

"Those I've met have all impressed me with their capability." She hoped she wasn't laying it on too thick, but the captain had already had a lot of wine. He might buy it. "But I have not yet met everyone. Who has the helm, at this moment?"

"My second officer, and coincidentally, my son, Nathan," he answered, smiling. "He'll have his own tub, one day, so I like to give him the practice. He had little enough of it, the trip to Neverwinter, truth to tell. Poor lad was laid up with a fever, and only just recovered as we were leaving Highcliff last."

_Well, that's no use,_ Kayla fretted. _Can't go suggesting incompetence about the captain's own son. But that gives me an idea._

"One of my own has taken ill," she said. "It's nothing catching! It's only that he's a poor sailor, and the trip is hard on him, though the weather's been fair."

"Ah, yes," the captain nodded, "I remember the dwarf was sick all the way to Neverwinter, last time you sailed with us, and we had no wind at all, that trip."

"With your permission, sir, I'd like to check on him."

"Yes, of course," the captain agreed. "Send him my greetings, as well, if you would, and hopes for a restful night."

"Thank you, sir," Kayla said, but the good captain was not ready to let her go quite yet.

"And if you would, please tell the paladin that his absence at dinner was inexcusable, and that I will not abide any tardiness for our chess match, later this evening.

"Thank you, sir, I certainly shall," Kayla almost laughed. Here they were, flying with all speed to attempt a rescue, and Casavir was playing chess. Still, she could not fault the paladin for that. They could only go as fast as the ship would take them.

She took her leave, and went first to Khelgar. He groaned his thanks for the captain's regard and heaved mightily, though he'd long since puked himself dry. Once again, she remembered too late that she might have something in her kit that might help him.

"Hang on, Khelgar," she said, "I have just the cure for you. You won't be dancing on the decks, but it might let you get some water down."

"Just kill me," he moaned.

She returned a few moments later with a packet of lozenges.

"Suck on these when you feel queasy," she told him. He popped one in his mouth immediately, then lay back, ashen-faced. She stayed to watch his reaction. A moment or two later, some color had come back to his cheeks.

"Not bad," he admitted. "Tastes like dung, but I feel loads better. Thanks."

She'd started to warn him not to take more than one a candle because of the possible sedative effect, but his eyelids were already drooping.

_Poor Khelgar,_ she thought. _Probably hasn't had a moment's rest since before we left Neverwinter. I'll tell him when he wakes._

Kayla still had one message to deliver.

She found Casavir in his usual place. He stood on the prow, looking out at the moonlit sea. His face shone in the pale light, but he'd wrapped himself in a cloak... and a blanket. His face was wet with spray.

"Hello, Casavir," she said, more to announce her arrival than anything else. He made no sign that he had even heard her. She crossed to him and touched his hand.

"What is wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said.

"You haven't left this spot all day," she said. "Captain Flinn missed you at dinner."

"I was not hungry," he answered.

Kayla sighed. This moodiness was new... or at least new to her.

"He asked me to tell you that you are not excused from your chess match with him later."

"I will be there."

"Talk to me, Casavir," she said softly. She was not pleading with him, but she did hope he would speak.

"Tell me about West Harbor again," he said.

"I told you all there is to tell," she answered, puzzled.

"Any person with less than nineteen winters may compete," he said. "And how does it go?"

Kayla closed her fingers around his hand and told him the story again. She had intended to give him the short version, but he looked at her reproachfully if she forgot a single crossbow bolt, so she gave him the whole day from her breakfast with Brother Merring, Bevil, and Amie to the last fireside story. He just closed his eyes and listened.

"West Harbor is a wholesome place," he said, when she had finished. "I should like to go there."

"And so you shall," Kayla said. "I just can't say when."

They stood in silence for a few moments. Kayla shivered. It was still springtime, so the nights were cool... and the salt spray was not helping. Casavir wordlessly held open a side of his cloak, inviting her to stand in its shelter, then closed it around them both when she accepted. It might be no more than a gesture of compassion, but Kayla was glad of his embrace, and the warmth of his body. She put an arm around his waist and rested her cheek against his chest, and they both stared out over the moonlit sea.

A mournful, almost nostalgic stillness crept over her, an emptiness so profound it hurt. She was lonely. She longed to kiss the paladin, not because she wanted to make love to him, but just to feel close to another human being, and, for that one moment, escape the strange chill that had nothing to do with the weather.

She blinked. She never felt like this. She did not go around like a grinning fool, rejoicing in every blade of grass or puffy cloud, but she was generally a happy person. Could she be sensing _his_ mood?

"The sea is beautiful, tonight," he said softly.

"Yes," she agreed, though her own lethargy made it difficult to get that one word out.

"Are you warmer?" he asked.

"Yes... but I feel odd..."

"My lady?" there was concern in his voice.

"I can't explain it," she said. "There's nothing wrong, but there's nothing right, either."

"I understand," he said. "I have no remedy for that, I fear."

"I might," she said timidly. She turned to face him, and put both arms around his neck. His face was close, but just out of reach. His arms tightened around her, and he looked at her face, searching her eyes. She saw his loneliness.

Slowly, then, shyly, he bent toward her. The first brush of his lips against hers was no more than a tentative, feather-soft touch, but then he kissed her again, lightly, but insistently. She trembled at the contact, but prayed it would not end. At first, the empty aching she felt swelled to the point where she nearly fainted from the intensity of it, but then, it receded. She returned his kiss eagerly, delighting in the softness of it. He broke it off before too many heartbeats had passed. He clasped her to him, nearly crushing her against his chest. She could feel his ragged breathing... and her own. Though she could not speak for his, she knew that hers was not caused by desire, though it would probably have become such, had the kiss lasted much longer. It was... relief. She floundered for a word to describe the release she felt in the wake of his kiss.

His embrace relaxed as his breathing slowed, but he did not release her quite yet. They just stood in each other's arms. Kayla felt calm, sated, even, as she enjoyed his nearness.

"My lady... " Casavir's soft voice brought her back to the moment. "Forgive me. I should not have..."

"No, Casavir," she answered, "we both needed that."

Kayla turned in his embrace to look out over the ocean. It was good, standing there in his arms. His closeness warmed her, and the mist in her face revived her.

* * *

The whole day, Casavir had been in the grip of the most vexing melancholy. Fifty leagues, as the gull flew, and a woman's life in the balance. It would be different, he knew, if he were active. Had they ridden to her rescue, honest effort would have fulfilled his need to _do_ something, but sailing, there was nothing for him to do but wait. He was grim by nature, but this passive... _nothingness_ just made it worse. Even the chatter and laughter of his companions was unbearable.

Still, he could not bring himself to inflict his misery on the others. They were not to blame for his foul humor. So, he took himself off to the bow with a book, where he could be as moody as he liked without troubling anyone.

For the most part, his plan worked. The Lady visited him every candle or so, but he had only to nod pleasantly to her, and she would leave him to his reading and his thoughts. The captain had called on him as well. Captain Flinn would have them dine at his table that night, and he wondered if Casavir might indulge him in a game of chess afterward. He could agree to the second readily enough. No one talked much, while playing chess, but he was not sure he could endure the dinner.

When the time came, he found that he could not, so he went down to the hold to visit Minnow while the others prepared. They would not miss him until the meal was underway, if then, and it was unlikely that anyone would come to fetch him when they did. There was no one to betray him, either. The men shared a state room, but Khelgar was too seasick to leave his bunk, and Grobnar, too flighty to notice that Casavir was not dressing for dinner... not that any of them brought finery, this trip, but they might put on clean tunics, anyway.

The paladin was surprised when The Lady came to him. The meal could not be over already, but there she was, asking him if he was all right.

He was, and he was not. Nothing troubled him, but he was restless... or perhaps something did trouble him. A day of brooding had left him feeling very much alone, isolated. He longed to hear about ordinary people with simple, meaningful lives, people who worked hard all day and went to bed at night with clear consciences and honest fatigue, people who might celebrate a bountiful harvest by pounding on washing coppers, dancing, and drinking home-made mead. The way The Lady told it, he could almost believe he had been there.

His selfishness had kept her out in the cold too long. She was dressed for dinner with the captain, not standing out at the rail all night with a cheerless paladin on the Sea of Swords. It was no more than human decency to offer her the shelter of his cloak.

There, too, he had acted in error. His body warmed her, but he had infected her with his moroseness. In her kind, honey-colored eyes, he saw his own loneliness looking back at him.

He did not know why he kissed her. He had not planned to do it, certainly, and he had not done it out of lust, to his own surprise. It was stolen intimacy. For that one moment when their lips touched, his world had one more person in it. The old, familiar ache of not-belonging faded, if only for that instant.

He worried that he might have gone too far, but she said they needed it, and she might have been right. He certainly felt better. The kiss woke his desire, but he could ignore it, for now. He could just... be.

"The captain expects you for chess," he heard her say.

"Yes," he answered. "I should keep him waiting no longer. Will you go in?"

"I thought I might check on Elanee."

"Is she ill?" Casavir asked. He had been so preoccupied with his own troubles that he had not even noticed that he had not seen the druid all day.

"El doesn't do well when she's away from the woods too long," she said. "She's quiet in Neverwinter, but out here, on the open ocean, she can't even drag herself out of bed... Is that what is wrong? Do you not like sailing?"

"No, my lady," he said, "I enjoy sailing, but this is no pleasure outing, so I grow impatient."

"I understand, Cas," she said. "I don't like the waiting, either, but it was three days by sea, or two, if we're lucky, or ten by land."

"Ten?" Casavir was puzzled by that. "Neverwinter is fifty leagues from Highcliff. With the horses, our return will take five days."

"I'm glad to hear that," she said. "I want to go back to Neverwinter for a while, spend some time with Uncle Duncan."

"My lady," he said, "you spoke of a foster father. How can it be that Duncan is your uncle?"

"He wanted a niece, it seems," she laughed. "You remember what I told you of Daeghun? He is Duncan's half-brother. I walked into the Sunken Flagon, told him who I was, and since then, we've been kin. It certainly feels right."

"I envy you," he admitted, rather surprised at his own candor, "to have found a family so easily."

"You never knew yours, did you?" she asked, her voice gentle.

Casavir sighed. He did not much think of those years before he had gone to the temple... he did not remember much of them, to tell the truth. He was reluctant to talk about something so personal with his leader, but she had shared her past with him, in as much detail as he asked, so he owed her more than he had given so far.

"I knew them a little," he said. "When I was very young. My father was a Watchman, but he fell in a street fight when I was still a babe. I do not remember him. I had a brother, Envar, though I have few memories of him. He was many years older than I. My mother, Kelda, worked at the dyers' to support us, but we were poor. I fished at the pier. There was a kindly old fishmonger there who bought anything I caught, and I took the money home to my mother."

"Casavir, that's terrible!" she said. "How old were you?"

"I do not recall," he replied, "though I went to the temple when I was six, so it must have been before that. I loved to fish, and still do, and I knew I was helping my family. One evening, I came home with my earnings and Envar and my mother were fighting. She cursed him, and he struck her. He left the house, but my mother was weeping. I gave her the money, hoping it would cheer her, but she took me to the Halls of Justice that very night. After that... you know the rest. I followed my calling."

"What happened to your mother?" The Lady asked.

"I never saw her again," he sighed. "I was not permitted to seek my family until my vows were formalized, and that was thirteen years later. The house was gone, burned, the locals said, though they also said it had been abandoned for several years before it burned. I asked them if they knew my mother, and got conflicting reports. Some said she died of some pestilence, one, that she'd thrown herself into the harbor, another said she dyed her petticoats red, and one said she... turned to other vices."

"What do you believe?" she asked, in that same gentle voice. That voice could compel him to tell her anything.

"She did not kill herself," he said firmly. "She might have grieved over the loss of my father and both her sons, but she had boundless faith. She would not have taken her own life, and robbed Tyr of his justice. In this world, where disease preys on the poor, there is no need to look further for truth. Nor do I believe she would have done anything dishonorable to earn a living."

"No, Casavir," she said, "I can't see that, either. Your training shaped you, but you must have started out with a virtuous soul. It's only natural that you should have gotten it from your mother."

He had to laugh at that.

"It is ironic that you should say that," he said. "The older boys used to taunt me by telling me that my brother was a thief."

"Do you believe it?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes," he said heavily. "It explains the fight that drove my brother from my mother's house, and why she took me to the temple so young. I might have been born a paladin, but without guidance, surrounded by temptation of every sort, I might have Fallen even before I knew what I was."

"I'm sorry, Casavir," she said.

She turned to him then, and embraced him. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek on her hair. It felt good to stand like that, with her warm body against him. His heart felt open, almost, and strangely free. He had told her more, perhaps, than he had shared with anyone but Callum, and he had known her less than three tendays. Still, he trusted her. And if he was to serve her, was it not fitting that she should know at least that small part of his past, even if he could not yet bring himself to tell her the rest?

He sighed. It might be just for him to tell her of his childhood, but it was improper for him to hold her like a lover... and he had already kissed her. What in the nine hells was he doing? If his insubordination did not get her killed, it might well make him Fall.

"My lady," he said, "you must go inside. Or you must take my cloak, and I will do without."

He felt her sigh.

"We should both go in," she said. "I should check on El and you have an engagement with Captain Flinn."


	20. Blazes

_Disclaimer: Everyone but Kayla is on loan from Obsidian. I've taken considerable liberties with Captain Flinn, so apologies to anyone who prefers the gruff, laconic sailor over the Hornblower-esque gentleman sea captain. Most of Shandra's dialogue is also borrowed._

* * *

"Where have you _been_?" Neeshka demanded as soon as Kayla walked into the women's state room. "You've been gone for _ages_."

"Talking to Casavir," she answered. "How long was I gone?"

"Three candles, at least!" the tiefling said.

"Oh, no!" Kayla moaned. "Cas was supposed to go play chess with the captain, after dinner. He was going there directly. I hope he doesn't wake him."

"I think Captain Flinn will be up for a while," Neeshka said with a grin. "When we left, he had not yet decided what he was going to do with his hair and beard."

"That's an odd thing to talk about over dinner," Kayla observed.

"Not as odd as you'd think," Elanee said from her bunk. That got Kayla's attention. She didn't know the druid was awake.

"Please tell me that Qara didn't set fire to the captain's head," Kayla groanend.

"Qara didn't set fire to the captain's head," Neeshka said, though she sounded like she was stifling a laugh.

"Not directly, anyway," Elanee said.

"No, she set a chair on fire first, and that caught the curtain," Grobnar said helpfully, "and when the captain pulled the curtain down, _that_ set his head on fire."

Kayla didn't even bother to ask what the gnome was doing in their state room. She just sank down on her bunk and put her head in her hands.

"Please tell me you're joking," she pleaded.

"Nope," Elanee giggled. If nothing else, the druid seemed to be feeling better.

"When everything started burning, I ran down here and got Elanee," Grobnar said. "Nobody knew where you were, after all, and the officers' mess _was_ on fire -"

"Yes, yes, go on" Kayla said impatiently, "I might as well hear the whole reason we'll be swimming the rest of the way to Highcliff."

"I conjured a water elemental," Elanee said, "but that was mostly just to make sure the floor and chair were really extinguished. There was very little structural damage, just some superficial scorching. Captain Flinn stuffed the curtain in the stove, and the chair pretty much put itself out. I healed his burns, and that was about it. He was summoning the surgeon to barber him when we left."

"Where's Qara?" Kayla demanded.

"The captain thought it might be best if the first mate kept an eye on her until you got back," Neeshka said. "For her own protection. Some of the crew were pretty upset."

Kayla sighed. This was going to cost them dearly, and she only had fifteen hundred gold left.

"Before I go pledge my soul and my first seven children to the captain, will somebody tell me why Qara set the chair on fire?"

"She was aiming for the stove, but she'd had a little too much to drink, and she missed."

"And she was casting spells at the stove _because_... ?"

"She was bragging about how she could cast any spell she wanted without any preparation at all," Neeshka said, rolling her eyes, "and decided the best proof of it would be a demonstration."

"The first mate had better continue to keep an eye on Qara for her own protection," Kayla growled, "from me. If I'm not back in a candle, you can assume that Captain Flinn has thrown me overboard."

"Really, Kayla," Elanee said calmly, "he didn't seem that upset. Once his burns were healed, he seemed more amused by the whole thing than anything else. Some of the crew were jittery, but that's only natural, after a fire on a wooden ship."

"I'm glad you're feeling better," Kayla said belatedly.

"It was rather exciting," Elanee said with a smile.

"I'd still better go talk to the captain," Kayla sighed.

"I'd change, if I were you," Neeshka said. "You're soaked through, and it isn't like they won't be there in a quarter candle. What were you and Cas doing all that time?"

"Just talking," she said irritably. She had come to the cabin still glowing from Casavir's kiss, and his sudden openness, but Qara's idiocy had put an end to that quickly enough.

She started to pull off her tunic, then remembered Grobnar was still there.

"Why are you here, Grobnar? Did Khelgar throw you out?"

"No, not at all!" the gnome said. "It's just that he was sleeping, and Casavir wasn't back yet, and I was bored, all by myself. So Neeshka was going to teach me to pick a lock."

"Good idea," Kayla said. "But wait outside in the passage a moment, please. I want to change."

Once that was accomplished, Kayla went back to the officer's mess. Some of the men gave her dark looks, but the Sembian first mate walked over to her.

"I was just checking to see if you were back yet," the woman said. "Qara's in my quarters, for the time being, but I can return her to your custody once you've seen Captain Flinn. It's your decision, of course, but it might be best if she kept to quarters for the rest of the voyage."

"I agree," Kayla said, wondering how the woman could be so calm after the wreckage Qara had caused. The officer's mess was in the stern of the ship, and the windows spanned the whole back half of the room. One of the curtains was down, and the scorch marks were clearly visible on floor, ceiling, and wall, and many of the window panes had cracked in the heat. The charred remains of a chair lay in one corner.

"The captain and your man are in the captain's quarters," the woman said. Kayla blinked at the phrasing of that, but held her tongue. "Follow me, please. When you want to collect the sorceress, my door is one more further down."

Kayla followed her in silence. The first mate knocked on the door, then opened her own and closed it behind her.

The captain himself answered the door. Kayla gasped at his changed appearance. He had worn his hair long. He tied it back while on deck, but that night, it had been loose about his shoulders. Now, it was cropped to bare stubble on his head... where it was not singed off completely. His neatly trimmed beard was gone. Kayla thought his face looked younger and more handsome without the long hair and whiskers, but the area where the beard had been almost glowed in comparison to the rest of his tanned face.

"Ah, Kayla, my dear," he said, "do come in. Casavir and I were just setting up the board, but we can defer that, if you'll take a glass of wine with us."

"Captain," she began, "I cannot tell you how sorry I am that one of my companions abused your hospitality so shamefully -"

"Please, Kayla!" he protested. "None of that. But do come in, and let me put your mind at ease."

Stunned, she followed him mutely into his state room. Casavir was seated at a small table bearing a chess board and a couple of wine glasses, but he rose when she entered the room. The captain brought a chair for her, and poured a third glass while she and the paladin settled themselves.

"I do hope you will forgive our casual attire," Captain Flinn said. "It's such a relief to leave all that fuss, when our party is so informal."

The captain had worn a doublet at dinner, but he had removed it in the warmth of his cabin, and Casavir had put aside his damp tunic. With both men in their shirts, the captain's quarters looked like some sort of refuge of masculinity, but their ease improved Kayla's, and she accepted the offered glass with far more confidence than she would have done, had they both been fully garbed.

"Captain," she started again, "I appreciate your generosity in forgiving Qara's idiocy, but you must allow me to make at least partial restitution for the damage to your ship. I cannot pay the full sum now, but I will give you security that the full debt will be repaid as early as possible."

Captain Flinn blinked at her.

"Kayla," he said firmly, "I will not take a single copper from you on that score, and that is final. The fault was mine, regardless of whatever misconceptions you may harbor. Please, allow me to explain."

She stared at him in shocked disbelief.

"I goaded her," the captain admitted. "I'm flattered by your high opinion of me, Kayla, but the truth of the matter is that I am not the noble creature that you imagine me to be, and life on a ship is far less exciting than you might think. Qara came to dinner with her airs and her youthful conceit, and I took advantage of her naiveté for my own private amusement. I have seen sorcerers before, Kayla, and I am well aware of their abilities, but she was just so proud of her accomplishments that I could not resist a little fun at her expense. I should probably be ashamed of myself for that, but in this case, it probably balances out, in the end. And let's face it, when a man gets on the far side of forty winters, the attention is not at all unwelcome. She was having a good time, and I was laughing at the spectacle she was making of herself, and it just got a bit out of hand."

"But she should have known better than to use a fire spell on a wooden ship!" Kayla protested. "She could have conjured bubbles, by Ilmater's hangnail."

"_You_ would know better, Kayla," he said placidly, "but Qara does not have your wisdom. Let it go, my dear. There was no permanent harm done."

"But your hair-"

"My hair will grow back," he smiled, "and I rather like the look without the beard. I think I'll keep it like that for a while. So please, drink your wine and relax. I only regret that your time with us will be so short, this trip. The winds are so good that I fear I may be deprived of your company as early as nightfall tomorrow. But then, the Sea of Swords is my home, and as long as you have need to travel upon it, the Double Eagle shall be at your disposal... except that I can't wait for you at Highcliff. I promised Calahan that I'd have him his copperas by Greengrass, and it's already Tarsahk. You know those monks at Candlekeep won't live without their ink, and all of Baldur's Gate will starve if their indigo production falls off."

Captain Flinn rolled his eyes, and Kayla laughed. Captain Flinn, at least, was still willing to call himself her friend, despite Qara's incendiary tendencies. Nevertheless, she did not stay long. The captain made her feel welcome, as always, but the men were there to play chess, not entertain another, and she felt a little out of place.

Qara did not say a word when Kayla collected her. Just as well, really. Despite the captain's assertions that he held no grudge, Kayla resented the sorceress' recklessness more than ever.

Elanee was sleeping when Kayla got back to her state room, and Grobnar, gone back to his own. Neeshka was still awake, though.

"Let's go for a walk," the tiefling suggested.

"If you like," Kayla agreed. She knew what her friend wanted. Neeshka had convinced herself that Casavir was the man for Kayla, and the tiefling always pestered her for details whenever they spoke for more than a few moments. Kayla was not sure she could accommodate her friend, however. She certainly could not tell her about the paladin's childhood. While it was probably nothing, in comparison to the hardships the tiefling had endured because of her heritage, it was still intensely personal. If Casavir wanted Neeshka to know about it, he could tell her himself. And the kiss... that, too, was a private thing, but Kayla longed to talk about it with someone, if only to remind herself that it had actually happened.

It was nearing midnight, and the weather and winds were unchanging, so there was only a skeleton crew on deck. Neeshka and Kayla could walk without much fear of being overheard.

"Three candles, and all you did was talk?" Neeshka said in disbelief.

"Mostly," Kayla replied hesitantly. "He wanted to hear about West Harbor again, and that took forever. He must have the thing memorized by now."

"It might seem all rustic to you, Kayla," the tiefling said, "but to somebody who didn't grow up there... well, it's still rustic, but I can see why he'd want to hear about it. He likes simple, honest things, and you don't get much more simple than farmers. But what else?"

"I guess we didn't do that much talking, after all," Kayla said with a shrug. "He was quiet all day, and downright melancholy this evening. Mostly, we just looked at the water... and shared his cloak."

"You mean..." Neeshka sighed. "I wonder what it's like, to just hold somebody because he feels good."

"You never..." Kayla stopped herself before finishing the question.

"Oh, I have," Neeshka replied, but Kayla heard the bitterness in her voice. "Several times. It took me a long time to figure out that humans only want to see if what they say about tieflings is true."

"What do they say about tieflings?" Kayla asked, though she feared that the answer would disgust her.

"We're supposed to be great in the sack," Neeshka shrugged. "Maybe it's true. I have no idea, since I never tried one, myself. All I know is that once they had their fun, you're back to being a freak with horns and a tail, and 'you stay away from me and my family, or I'll set the guard on you.'"

Kayla put her arm around the tiefling's shoulders and gave her a squeeze.

"I still love you, Neesh," she said.

"I know," Neeshka smiled, "and it means a lot to me. But we were talking about you and Cas. What did it feel like?"

"I can't describe it," Kayla sighed. "I was happy to be with him, but sad, at the same time. Just being near him makes my heart race, but that's the aura. But he's so... desolate, almost, like he isn't even capable of being happy. I want to help him, but I don't know how."

"Just keep doing what you're doing," Neeshka predicted. "He's already better than he was back at Old Owl Well."

"He kissed me," Kayla blurted.

"No!" Neeshka squealed happily.

"It wasn't what you're thinking," Kayla protested. "It was just that we were both so down right then, and it felt good to touch somebody else. Still, it was the most incredible thing..."

"Have _you_ ever... you know?" the tiefling asked.

"With Bevil." Kayla was glad it was too dark for Neeshka to see her blush, but then remembered the tielfling's darkvision. But it did not matter. Neeshka didn't judge. "It was nothing like that, though. I wanted him, I suppose, and he is... or was... my best friend, but I didn't love him. I just wanted to see what it was like. Now, I almost wish I'd waited."

"It's always like that," Neeshka said. "Trust me. Still, it sounds like you had a pretty special night."

"Neesh, would you promise me something?" Kayla asked.

"Sure!" Neeshka chirped. "Er... as long as I don't have to stop stealing things just to keep Cas happy."

"No, nothing like that," Kayla laughed. "Just don't tell anyone about what we talked about tonight, all right? It was probably just a fluke. I shouldn't have said anything at all, but I thought I'd burst if I didn't tell somebody."

"I understand," Neeshka said, "and I won't tell anyone."

With Qara confined to quarters, Kayla, too, was obligated to remain below decks. Qara could not remain in the cabin unsupervised, and Kayla did not have the heart to force Elanee to remain in the state room, now that she was finally feeling well enough to leave it, nor could she ask Neeshka to make the sacrifice. Besides, Kayla suspected that the sorceress would not respect the tiefling's authority. She had considered just letting the sorceress find out for herself why she should remain there, but Captain Flinn himself had called on her that morning and repeated his first mate's request. While he himself might have forgiven Qara's poor judgment, he did not want to test his men's obedience over something so trivial. Besides, they would not be inconvenienced long. They were almost certain to reach Highcliff with the evening tide.

Kayla's boredom was broken first by Khelgar. He had come in with their breakfasts, grinning and thumping Kayla roughly on the shoulder. Her lozenges had made him feel like a new man, and he wanted to thank her... but maybe he should go out on deck and get some air, just in case.

Kayla was bored witless. She did not suffer seasickness like Khelgar, but she still could not read on boat without becoming queasy. She had no interest in talking to Qara, a sentiment the sorceress seemed to share. Qara lay in her bunk and read. Kayla just stared at Neeshka's berth above her.

Around midmorning, Casavir surprised her with a visit. He offered to relieve Kayla for a while, but Qara put up a fuss at that, saying that it would be improper for a man to remain alone in a lady's state room. Kayla laughed at that. What could Qara possibly have to fear from a paladin? But they humored her, and sat on the edge of Kayla's bunk.

"Captain Flinn says we should be in Highcliff this evening, if the wind holds," Kayla said.

"Yes," Casavir agreed. "He made the announcement at breakfast."

They sat in silence for a few moments.

"Khelgar is much improved," Casavir said at last.

"Yes," Kayla replied. "He stopped by earlier. And Elanee is up and about today, as well."

"Yes, my lady, as I do not see her here."

Kayla chuckled at that. Once more, they fell silent.

"Should we make some kind of plan for landfall?" Kayla asked.

"I thought I might save that for this afternoon's visit," Casavir said. "I did not want to use up all the good topics for conversation so soon."

"Oh, just talk, already!" Qara snorted. "You're already pretending I'm not here."

Casavir cleared his throat.

Silence.

"What's the weather like, on deck?" Kayla asked.

"It is still mild," Casavir answered gratefully, "but the wind is picking up, and the seas are rougher, though I suspect you can feel that yourself. When I came down, Captain Flinn was giving orders to reef the sails."

"Is it as windy as that?" Kayla asked, with some concern. If it started to storm, the captain might not want to risk his ship against Highcliff's rocky shoals.

"No, my lady," Casavir said. "Though he did think it might be a wise precaution. "There is not a cloud in the sky, at present, but he fears we are in for a storm, tonight."

Once more, they fell silent. Kayla wondered how it could be that he had kissed her the night before. He certainly showed no sign of even remembering the intimacy now. But the paladin was never easy around Qara. Ever since that first morning, when the sorceress had touched him so inappropriately, he avoided her whenever possible. That he had come to Kayla at all, and planned another visit later, was a pleasant surprise.

At last, Casavir stood. Kayla could understand that. The rail of the bunk was digging into the backs of her thighs as well.

"Is there nothing I can bring you to help you pass the time, my lady?" he asked. "Some book, perhaps? I have nothing but devotional reading myself, but Captain Flinn has promised the use of his library, should you desire it."

"Thank you, Casavir," Kayal replied, "but I don't dare read on a ship, or I'll be borrowing Khelgar's bucket."

"Might I read to you?" he asked.

"Would you really?" Kayla all but jumped at the offer. "I'd like that very much."

"Gladly," he smiled. "I do not think you would care for military history or maritime law, but I spied a book of verse among the captain's collection. I can return to you after devotions."

"Couldn't you do them here?" Kayla asked. She saw the paladin at them every day, but she'd never actually watched him, and she was curious. "If you wouldn't mind, that is."

"I could... " he said, "if you have no objection to hearing prayers offered to a god that is not yours."

"I don't think Lathander would mind," Kayla smiled. "And it would bring you back here that much quicker."

"Very well," he said. "I will get the book and see if Elanee can look after Minnow. She's been caring for the horses, today. She seems to enjoy it, and she says that being around them helps her feel more at ease."

He nodded farewell and left the cabin.

"Does he have to read aloud?" Qara asked petulantly, once the paladin was gone. "I'll never be able to concentrate on my own book."

"Yes," Kayla said tersely. "And you have only yourself to blame for being stuck in here in the first place. Frankly, I'm surprised Captain Flinn didn't have you thrown off the ship."

Casavir returned a quarter candle later with a leather-wrapped parcel in one hand and a canvas-covered book under his arm. Kayla sat at the head of her berth, resting against the forward bulkhead and indicated that he should sit at the foot.

He sat hesitantly, as if unsure about the propriety of sharing a bunk with a woman, even if they sat at opposite ends, but he must have decided it was permissible, because he took off his boots and made himself comfortable. He glanced nervously at Qara, but the sorceress ignored him.

He began hesitantly. Perhaps he was unused to reading poetry aloud, Kayla thought. Soon, though, he was reading more fluently. Kayla closed her eyes and leaned back, letting the paladin's deep, melodic voice wash over her.

He read for a candle, perhaps, before setting the book aside.

"It is time," he said apologetically.

Qara snorted, but Kayla muttered something encouraging, and the paladin rose from the bunk and knelt beside it, setting his holy symbol on the blanket in front of him.

He closed his eyes and said nothing for several long moments. He appeared to be meditating. When he opened his eyes again, he began to pray. The language was formal and vaguely archaic, and he spoke very softly. The prayer was about what Kayla might have expected, given that the paladin served Tyr, the god of justice. Still, the ritual he performed did not last as long as Kayla had thought it might. Her own devotions took about the same amount of time, and Lathander was not a demanding god. Still, Casavir was a paladin, not a cleric. Perhaps Tyr saved the candles-long rites for his priests.

Casavir returned to his reading, then, only pausing to take some water from time to time. It was delightful listening to him read. Kayla had expected him to avoid any love poetry the book might contain, but he read that, too, in the same calm, rich voice. Her heart pounded and her breathing quickened to hear such tender words from his lips, but if he noticed her reaction, he gave no sign.

All things pass, however, be they good or ill, and the light was fading. Qara had fallen asleep, and was whuffling softly.

Casavir rose again and lit the lamps. When he sat back down, he did not pick up the book again, but sat cross-legged on the berth and took out the leather parcel he had brought. He unfolded it on the bunk between them. It contained a worn, much-scraped square of parchment, a stick of charcoal, a stylus, and a wax tablet. He set the stylus and the tablet aside and passed the parchment and the charcoal to her.

"I will need to know the lay of the land to plan our approach," he said. "Will it sicken you to draw it for me?"

"I'll live," she replied, and sketched a map of the area. It did make her queasy, but she was done before the nausea got too bad.

"This is the lane leading to the farm?" he asked. She risked a nod, but that made the nausea worse. For a moment, she feared she might be ill in front of him, but the feeling passed. She stretched out so she could lay flat on her back. The paladin shifted to make room for her feet.

"Are you unwell, my lady?" he asked in concern.

"It will pass," she said weakly. "Just keep talking, and don't worry about me."

"Very well," he sighed, and proceeded to tell her how they should tie their horses a quarter mile away and go the rest of the way on foot, keeping off the lane, but traveling parallel to it. If they met no resistance, they might hide behind the ruined barn while Neeshka scouted the area. If they met resistance, they would deal with that as the occasion demanded.

"Now, my lady, we should rest," he said, rising. "I do not know how much sleep we will get tonight, and we will need our wits about us."

"Don't go, Casavir," Kayla pleaded.

"I must," he said. "You need sleep, and so do I. Elanee and Neeshka, too, should take some rest, and they will not welcome my presence in your cabin."

"You should eat something, too," Kayla reminded him.

"We can take a light meal after land is sighted," he said. After that, we will have perhaps a candle before we dock, and another candle or more before the horses are off-loaded. I know you grudge the delay, but we have little choice."

"Can't we just leave on foot as soon as we dock?" Kayla asked. "It isn't far to Shandra's farm, and we can have the horses sent to Elder Mayne's house. It is on the north end of town, and no more than a mile from the farm. That will save us time."

"A sound plan, my lady," Casavir agreed. He moved as if he was going to stroke her cheek, but laid his hand on her shoulder, instead.

"Rest now," he said, "and I will see you when you wake."

* * *

Casavir was not surprised that the storm broke in all its fury the moment the ship was tied off at the pier. Complaining about the weather would not change it, so he ignored it as much as his saturated gambeson would allow. It was going to be a long, cold night, but he must endure it.

The Lady had said little of the woman they were attempting to rescue, and what she did say did little to ease his mind over her safety. She was alone on her farm, with no kin or friends that might help her. They might already be too late. Though he had said nothing to his leader of his concerns, he feared that creatures that could travel astrally had never troubled themselves over whether it would be quicker to reach Shandra's farm by land or sea. Still, it was possible that the records had not given a precise location, so there was a chance, however slim, that there might yet be time.

The met no one on the road, but that was expected, with the rain sheeting down around them. It was after midnight. The town slept... and so, too, might Shandra, if she lived.

In that, at least, Casavir had been wrong. As they neared the barn, he saw a woman running. She cast a lantern away from her as she ran. A flash of lightning showed perhaps a dozen figures in pursuit. Githyanki.

"There she is!" Casavir heard the leader's thin, harsh cry. "Capture her! Zeeaire wants her alive!"

The running woman reached her house, for all the safety wooden walls and a thatched roof might offer. He saw the door close behind her. It might buy them time to reach her, if they could just reach her attackers without being seen.

Another flash, and the paladin's hopes of that were dashed. They were spotted.

"Things have turned out well for us, my brothers!" The leader shouted. "The girl and the _Kalach-Cha_ both within our reach. Take one team and capture the girl - alive. The rest of us will deal with this one."

Six githyanki faced them. Casavir ran for the leader, praying the githyanki would not simply blast them with spells at range before they could close.

Qara's fireball erupted in their midst. One of them fell in the blast, and the rest screamed, but five remained.

That fireball had probably saved them, he thought, even as he killed the leader. The githyanki had been unable to use their own magic against them, and now must face them in combat. The githyanki were able swordsmen, but their skills were no match for his own... or Khelgar's. The dwarf reached the githyanki only a few steps behind Casavir, and had killed his first even as Casavir fought his second and third.

Qara's second fireball scorched Casavir, as well, but he survived it. His opponents were not so lucky. Khelgar's second foe fell dead. The sixth fled a short distance into the darkness. Casavir searched for him, but he could not see the githyanki.

"He's gone, Cas," Khelgar growled. "I was looking right at him, and poof! No more githyanki."

"He probably went for reinforcements," the paladin said, wincing at the pain in his face. Damn that girl and her fireballs. "Did the others get the door open?"

"Yes!" Neeshka shouted over the rain.

They all ran for the house.

"So the _Kalach-Cha_ survived," the githyanki inside snarled. "Deal with her first. The other girl can wait."

Six more githyanki inside the house, all pointed right at them, and Casavir was already wounded by "friendly" fire.

Elanee's entanglement spell immobilized them seconds before Qara's lightning spell sizzled through them. Three fell dead.

Casavir blinked. She was effective, he had to give her that.

The rest didn't last long against Casavir, Khelgar and Kayla, though Neeshka took out one with her bow.

Now... where was Shandra?

"Stay still, Cas," he heard The Lady say. "You're hurt."

He sighed in relief as her healing spell washed over him.

They found the woman in her bedroom.

"You again?" she cried, as if The Lady were somehow worse than the githyanki. "Don't come any closer!"

"Listen, Shandra," his leader said calmly, "we're here to help you, but you have to come with us."

"I'm not going anywhere with you!" she wailed. "What do you want from me?!"

"We want to help you," The Lady pleaded. "But you have to trust us. Come on, now. It won't take them long to return."

A crackle, and a soft _whomf_ sound, and the dark bedroom was suddenly brighter. Smoke curled up the room's wooden walls.

"That's... that's my house," Shandra said in disbelief. "First my barn, now my house?"

"This brings back memories," Khelgar grunted.

"Looks like those things are trying to smoke us out," Shandra said. "Well, it worked. Let's get out of here before this place collapses."

They met more githyanki in the garden, perhaps a dozen. Casavir took a blow to the thigh. The cuisse kept the blade from severing his leg, but shock drove him to the ground. Khelgar and The Lady stood over him, driving back the attackers until he could get his legs under him again, but he could hardly stand. He hated using his powers on himself, but he had little choice, if he wished to be of use to The Lady. He healed the injury and managed to take out another githyanki.

Grobnar had put his bow aside in close combat, and was taking on another githyanki. The paladin went to his aid, but the gnome killed the thing before he got there. Grobnar let out a whoop of triumph and spun around, looking for something else to stab.

There were only four githyanki left. Casavir got one, Khelgar, another, and something bright from Qara took out a third. He and Khelgar took turns hacking at the last remaining githyanki. The creature had thrown down his sword, and his hands moved in some spell, but he never finished it. Khelgar's axe bit deeply into his chest, and he moved no more.

"Thanks," Shandra said, "maybe I should have stuck with you after all."

"Look," his leader said, "I'm here to help, all right?"

"We really need to get out of here before more of these creatures show up," Shandra replied. Casavir shook his head at the obviousness of that, but The Lady made no reaction.

"We'll take you to Neverwinter," she said. "You'll be safe at the Sunken Flagon, and we can tell you everything there."

"The only safe place you can think of is in Neverwinter?" Shandra asked incredulously.

"Yes," the cleric said simply.

"Why not?" Shandra rolled her eyes. "My barn's gone, my house is gone... are we leaving right away?"

"I would not suggest going back into your house to get anything," his leader said wryly, "but if there is anything you need from your barn, we can wait while you get it. I see you've been rebuilding it."

"Lot of good that does me now," Shandra muttered. "I've got a horse and maybe a couple blankets in the barn, but everything else is in the house... my house..."

The woman sank to her knees and wept.

"I'm sorry, Shandra," The Lady said. By now, the house was completely ablaze. "Get your horse, and let's go."


	21. Shandra at the Flagon

_Disclaimer: Obsidian owns everybody but Kayla. I've messed with the Sunken Flagon dialogue a bit._

* * *

The trip back to the flagon had been one long nightmare, for Kayla. They had walked back to Elder Mayne's house only to find that their horses still had not been delivered, so they went back to the docks. The last one was being off-loaded then, and hung suspended from a crane over the deck while workers argued over whose turn it was to clean up the mess. Casavir had solved that conundrum by grabbing a shovel from the one, scraping the objectionable material off the deck, and depositing it in the harbor. Grimly, he handed the shovel back. The two men muttered something, and completed the transfer to the dock.

From there, they rode. The next evening, at nightfall, they were still riding. They had covered some sixty miles since midnight, and Kayla's body screamed in protest. Her legs and buttocks had never been so sore. Their last break, she had been afraid to dismount for fear that she would be unable to stand. So she sat on the horse in the rain. It had been pouring since the night before, too, though at least the wind had died down. Of them all, only Casavir, Qara, and Shandra were unaffected by the long ride... and Grobnar, but that was because he'd spent most of it in front of Casavir like a lady riding side-saddle. Even with the shortened stirrups, it was difficult for the gnome to straddle a horse for more than a couple hours at a stretch, so Casavir had taken him onto his own horse. The paladin had spent most of the day riding with his reins in one hand and his other arm wrapped around the gnome, to keep him from sliding off.

Shandra had fallen into a stony silence, after the shock of her rescue wore off. She took food when it was offered, but gave no indication that she even heard anyone who tried speaking to her. For the last several hours, no one had. They were all just too tired.

Finally, Casavir, who rode in the lead, held up his closed fist. Kayla leaned back on the reins, but she did it too fast. Peaches stopped too suddenly, and her groin collided painfully with the saddle.

"Are we going further tonight, Casavir?" she asked once she'd gotten her breath back.

"No," he said. "We'll walk off the road a bit and make camp. I don't know how must rest we'll get, but the horses have come far enough today. We'll have to walk them before we can water them."

Khelgar grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "slave-driver" and all but fell off his horse. But his dwarven constitution served him well. A few strides, and he had recovered enough to stand fully upright. Neeshka and Elanee, too were able to walk out their stiffness easily enough, though Neeshka rubbed her backside and muttered under her breath.

Kayla's earlier fears about not being able to stand were confirmed. The moment her feet hit the ground, she collapsed in a puddle. Khelgar hauled her to her feet.

"Walk it off," he suggested kindly, and allowed her to lean on him while she took her first steps. It felt strange, having her knees together again. They met like long-parted friends: joyfully, but still bearing the agony of separation.

"Healing spells all around," she said.

"Save them for the morning," Casavir said. "It will be worse then."

He was right.

The next day, it did not rain, but the sky was still overcast, and the air cool. Casavir wanted to cover forty miles by nightfall, more if their horses could bear it. He hoped to make Neverwinter in three days. Kayla did not see how it was possible, but she held her peace. Casavir was not being callous, she knew. She saw the compassion in his eyes. He knew of their pain, but Shandra's danger was real. Nothing else would have compelled him to drive them, or their horses, that hard. But the third day was better than the second, and their horses were holding up very well indeed. Their riders might be suffering, but Kayla, Elanee, and Casavir had healing spells for that.

They reached the Sunken Flagon at nightfall on the third day, their fifth since leaving Neverwinter.

Duncan was delighted, but astonished to see them back so soon. Still, he seemed more pleased by the woman they brought back with him than he did by their speedy return.

"Well, now!" he said. "I see you've brought someone new to my establishment. Now who is this young lady?"

"This is Shandra," Kayla said wearily, "Shandra, Duncan. Duncan, Shandra."

"Please, lass, come in, come in," he gushed, giving Kayla a one-armed hug and a peck on the cheek. "Make yourself at home. This here is the Sunken Flagon, I own it - you'll be safe here. Grobnar, play a tune or something, make the lady feel welcome."

"Why, of course," Grobnar said, "I was just th-"

"Look," Duncan snapped, "we don't need a lecture on what passes through your head and out your mouth. Just play."

"Well," Shandra muttered, "the innkeeper certainly runs hot and cold."

"That's my uncle," Kayla said, gingerly seating herself. "You can trust him."

Shandra did not seem willing to go along with that.

"All right," she growled, "I agreed to let you bring me here, now I want some answers. What happened at my farm? Who were those creatures? And why were they after _me_?"

"I know you've been through a lot," Kayla began, "but calm down, pl-"

"'Calm down?' Calm _down_? You try being calm when your farm is attacked by monsters and burnt to the ground!"

"Shandra," Casavir said calmly, "we realize this is difficult, but your life may be in danger - and I swear to you, we are trying to protect you, not make more trouble for you."

Shandra stared at the paladin. Kayla knew that look. She'd worn one just like it, that morning near Old Owl well, when first she beheld Casavir's beardless face. Something ugly twisted in her gut.

"Oh," Shandra said. "All right, sorry. Guess the whole thing's hard to take all at once."

"A little paladin charm sure calmed her quick," Neeshka muttered darkly.

"We were hoping you might be able to answer a few questions for us," Casavir went on.

"But..." Shandra protested, "what could I know that's so important?"

Kayla felt Casavir's eyes on her, but she was still distracted by Shandra's worshipful expression.

"You are kin of Ammon Jerro, are you not?" he asked at last.

"Ammon Jerro?" Shandra sounded puzzled. "He was my grandfather. Or my great-grandfather... or was it my great-great-grandfather? I have no memory of meeting him. But my mother told me that he saw me a few times as a babe, but I was too young to remember. Mother said he would cradle me and sing to me, and I would pull out his beard hairs."

"You just keep away from me, lass," Khelgar rumbled.

Shandra did not seem to hear him.

"I heard he was an eccentric, but humble wizard," she said, "but he died a long time ago. What's he got to do with this whole mess?"

"His haven may contain information we need," Casavir replied.

"My mother told me about the Haven when I was a child. I thought it was just a tale she used to make me do my chores on time. She always threatened to lock me in there if I wasn't a good girl."

"The Haven is real," Casavir said, "and we need to find it."

"I have no idea where it is," Shandra said irritably. "Knowing its location wouldn't help you much anyway. My mother said something about a... path you have to walk to get to it. Like a series of challenges, but I don't remember what they are. She also said getting into the Haven requires a pint of fresh blood. And not just any blood will do... it has to be Jerro blood..."

Her voice trailed off, and she stared at Kayla.

"Wait... is _that_ why you 'rescued' me? So you could _bleed_ me?"

"That was not our intention, Shandra," Casavir reassured her. "Please... hear us out."

"_You_ might not want to drain my blood, but I'm not so sure about the rest of you. Besides, if you think I'm going to some dark dungeon that used to give me nightmares, well... think again."

"If Ammon Jerro was 'eccentric, but humble,'" the paladin said, "it is not likely his Haven is a place to fear."

"Hmmm..." Shandra mused, "you know, I never thought of it that way. You may be right. Look, I can barely think, let alone stand. I really need rest... we can talk about this tomorrow."

"Perhaps we should retire," Casavir said soothingly, "we all could use the rest. Shandra, I believe Duncan has rooms upstairs."

"I do!" Duncan said eagerly.

"Oh..." Shandra yawned, "uh, thanks for the hospitality... uh, Casavir, right? I appreciate it."

"Of course," the paladin replied. "You have been through a great deal, it is the least we can offer."

"That I can offer, he means," Duncan interrupted. Kayla could not decide which man she wanted to kill first. "My inn, you know, always eager to help a lass in distress, we are, here at the Sunken Flagon. Except that Sal's yelling for me. Casavir, be a good fellow and show her up to twelve, will you?"

Casavir hefted Shandra's pack and extended his arm to her. Kayla stared after them. She was tired, she was sore, and she was not thinking straight. She wanted to punch her uncle and strangle the paladin, and she did not even know why. She needed to have a lie down to think about it... and then she needed a hot bath... and another healing spell. And food. Maybe not in that order. She could not decide.

In her weary, pain-soaked brain, something clicked. She had reached a decision. She would kill the paladin first, then her uncle.

By the time Casavir returned, she could not even bear to look at him. She grabbed her own pack and went up to her room.

* * *

After bidding Shandra good night, Casavir returned to the common room. He stopped at the bar to get a tankard of ale for himself and sought out his leader. She had been strangely quiet during the dialogue with Shandra, and her silence troubled him. She was no longer in the taproom.

"Where has she gone?" he asked Khelgar.

"Dunno," the dwarf shrugged. "She just up and left, while you were talking to Sal."

Casavir sighed. He did not have much experience with women, but what he did have told him that when one of them "just ups and leaves", delay in finding out the reason would unlikely benefit anyone.

He took a gulp of his ale, handed the rest to Khelgar, and trudged toward the stair.

He knocked at her door. She opened it and stepped aside to allow him to enter the room. It no longer smelled of herbs. The porter must have scrubbed the floor, while they were gone.

"You were very kind to Shandra, just now," she said. There was something odd about her voice, the paladin thought. He looked at her. Why was her nose red? And her eyes, too...

"I thank you for the compliment, my lady, but it was the least I could do after her ordeal," he replied, praying that she would come to the point before too much longer.

"That was not a compliment."

"My lady..." Casavir did not understand. She seemed _angry_ with him. "Do you feel my conduct was inappropriate?"

"No," she sighed, sinking down to sit on her bed. "It's not that..."

"My lady," he said, dropping to one knee so he could look her in the face, "do not make me guess why you are vexed with me."

"It's just that... it was my uncle's place to offer hospitality, not yours," she said, though her voice sounded choked, to Casavir.

"You are right," he sighed. "I overstepped my authority in that, and I am sorry. But that is not all that troubles you, is it?"

"I don't recall you being so solicitous of any of my other companions," she said, her lower lip trembling.

"Your other companions follow you of their own free will, not because they were burned out of their homes and they had nowhere else to go."

"But I know what that's like, Casavir!" she sobbed. "I didn't take to this life because I wanted it. It was forced on me very much like Shandra's misfortune was forced on her."

Casavir's heart wrenched. She was right, he knew. She had not even twenty winters, and she led them bravely. Not a day passed that he did not admire the skill with which she kept her band of misfits together, yet for all that, she, too, had been cast out into the world with nothing more than a mace and a sliver of silver. And she was still crying.

"My lady..." words failed him. Not knowing what else to do, he embraced her. Weeping, she fell off the bed, into his arms. They sat there on the floor for a few moments. He held her, stroked her hair, made soothing, nonsensical noises. Finally, she calmed, though he did not release her.

"You are not like Shandra, my lady," he said. "You are far from helpless... and is that what you really want? Do you want me to talk to you as if you were a child, alone in the world, unable to even protect yourself?"

"Sometimes, yes!" she wailed. "I'm tired of having to be the strong one all the time. Sometimes, I want to be the one who's being protected."

He blinked.

"I would protect you with my life," he said.

"I know," she said, another tear tracing a wet line down her still damp cheek, "I just don't want you to have to die to prove it."

He drew her tightly against his body, cradled her head against his shoulder. His heart raced. _She_ needed _him_. Pride welled in his breast. That surge of desire he had felt when she first saw him as a man was nothing compared to the emotion that gripped him now. This virtuous, indomitable creature wanted _his_ protection. He felt invincible!

His warrior instinct was not the only thing stirred by her words. He felt like a man in another, far less noble way, as well. He had never been more roused, he was certain, and there she was, in his arms, tender and completely vulnerable. Perhaps it was a trick of his memory, but he imagined he could still smell the perfume of her hair. He could feel the swell of her breasts against his chest. Every time she drew breath, they pressed against him. How he longed to take her! Yet she clung to him, trusting him, unaware of the lust that writhed in him, even now. She sat between his outstretched legs, with her shapely buttocks pressed against the inside of his thigh. One gently curved hip grazed his flesh, though thankfully, she was not near enough to sense how badly he wanted her. Her lips trembled against his neck. He shuddered, nearly losing his last shred of control.

He must flee. He could not satisfy the demands of his body and the demands of his sacred calling, too. He had sworn to submit to Tyr's will long ago. His body must be made to submit, as well. She needed him to be her shield against the world. He would not violate her trust.

He could not stay, but neither could he just walk out, leaving her sitting on the floor staring after him... and she certainly must not be allowed to see him in profile.

Casavir lifted her and set her on the bed. He knelt beside it, and took her hand.

"I must leave you now," he said. "You must rest."

"Casavir..." she breathed. She pressed the back of his hand to her lips.

_Gods, no... not now! Can't she see... no, she can't. She doesn't know what a filthy creature I am._

"I will be here for you, my lady," he said. His voice sounded strangled, even in his own ears. _If I have to geld myself to do it,_ he added bitterly, in the privacy of his mind.

He forced himself to kiss her hand, then her forehead. "Sleep well, my lady."

He turned away from her as he stood, and almost managed not to run from the room.

He closed the door behind him and leaned his brow against the wood, gasping. Resolutely, he went to his own door, turned the key in the lock, and went in. He needed to do many things before he could retire. He must see that the horses had been rubbed down and watered, and then he must bathe and shave, and get some food. It would wait. There was something he needed to do first. He locked the door.

* * *

For several long moments, Kayla stood in the corridor outside Casavir's room. She could bring herself neither to knock nor return to her own room. He had left so abruptly. She was certain something was wrong.

Finally, she knocked. Was he sleeping already? Without even eating anything? Maybe he was in the taproom. She went down and asked Khelgar, but last the dwarf saw, he was headed upstairs to look for her. Maybe he was asleep. She went back to his room and knocked again. The door opened, and she found herself staring at the paladin's bare chest.

"I'm sorry, Casavir!" she gasped. "You should have said you were indisposed. I did not mean to interrupt your bath."

Looking past him, she could see there was no tub in the paladin's room. His chair once more served as his armor rack, and his tunic was draped over the foot of his bed. The blankets were askew and wrinkled, so he must have been resting. His shirt lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. The room smelled of musk and sweat.

_Ah, the joys of owning a gambeson, _she thought. Though the odor was mildly offensive, it was also strangely stimulating. And the man himself stood not three feet away, with a faint sheen of perspiration gleaming on his fair skin. A musky, vaguely spicy scent rose from him. She fought back the desire to rub herself against him. Had Elanee been here, she would have said that it was animal instinct, the desire of the female to cover herself in the scent of the male, and perfectly natural. But Elanee was not here, and she thought herself a bit of a freak.

"I was not bathing," he said, then reddened. She saw his Adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallowed.

"Forgive me, my lady!" he said, looking down at his own naked torso and blanching. He grabbed his tunic and held it in front of his body. "If you would just..."

Giggling, she turned around while he put his tunic back on.

"My lady," he said after a moment, "shouldn't you be resting?"

"I wanted to apologize," she said, turning back to him. "Gods know what you must think of me. I'm not normally this sensitive, and your behavior with Shandra was perfectly proper..."

_Or was it?_

"You give me too much credit, my lady," he said. "I had no right usurping your uncle's place, nor should I have made light of the many obstacles you have overcome. I assure you that I shall not repeat either mistake. As for the rest, the last few months have been a trial for you, and the last few tendays, doubly so. I am impressed that you were able to bear it."

Now that Casavir was here in front of her, she could not think of what she wanted to say to him.

_He likes simple, honest things,_ Neeshka's words floated back to her, _and you don't get much more simple than farmers._ Shandra was a farmer... and she was beautiful. Her features were flawless, certainly, and her skin had the warm, healthy glow of someone who spent a lot of time outdoors without needing to rely on salves to keep from burning. Even her flaxen hair was sun-streaked and lovely. And her body... Shandra had a generous figure, but her occupation had made her strong. She would not need a Girdle of Frost Giant Strength just to wield a mace competently. And Shandra appealed to the paladin's protective instincts without wailing about it.

Kayla now understood the real reason behind Casavir's chivalry toward Shandra. Yes, it had been excessive, but that was because he was falling in love with her. Yes, he still treated Kayla kindly. He would not be cruel enough to abandon a weeping woman.

She was ashamed of herself, and the weakness she had shown him, and painfully aware that she had acted like a jealous, spoiled child. What could she say to him now?

_"Shandra has not your strength,"_ Casavir had said. Perhaps not. Shandra needed protection more, but Shandra had not thrown herself weeping into the paladin's arms like Kayla had done, despite her "strength." Yet Kayla had demanded his service.

Perhaps he was not yet as comfortable around Shandra as he was around Kayla, but he was a reserved man. He would overcome his shyness. From the moment he met Shandra, he had not hesitated to call her by name, and he had only used Kayla's the once.

There would be no more kisses from Casavir.

She sighed. The thought saddened her, but there was nothing she could do. The paladin was not hers to keep. If he wanted someone else, she might regret it, but she could do nothing to prevent it, and she would only make a fool of herself trying. She could not even bring herself to hate Shandra for it. It was not her fault that she suited his tastes. Still, Kayla might yet be his friend, if she could get her own emotions under control.

"Were you going to eat first, or call for your bath?" Kayla decided to give friendship a try.

"I was going to ensure that the porter looked after the horses properly," he said. "And then I was going to eat, bathe, and go to bed."

"I'll walk with you to the stables," she said. "We might as well drop your shirt off for laundering."

She reached for the discarded undergarment, but he deliberately kicked it under the bed. When she straightened, his face was red again.

"I will take it down myself," he said. "I shall have more laundry than that."

"Are you all right, Casavir?" she asked. He did not look good. "First, you're all red, then you're white as bleached linen, and now you're red again, and that tic in your cheek is acting up. I know you can't be ill, but something is wrong."

"It is nothing, my lady," he assured her, though he did not meet her gaze, "only fatigue. Let us go to the stables."

After the stables, they stopped in the taproom. Kayla arranged for a plate to be sent up to Shandra's room. If the trip to Neverwinter had not killed her, it was unlikely that Sal's cooking would do it. Everyone else had already eaten and ordered their baths, so Kayla added their names to the waiting list.

"Would you like to come in for a drink while we wait, Casavir?" she blushed a little at her lack of subtlety, but for once, she really did intend to simply have a glass of wine with him.

To her surprise, he accepted her invitation. They sat at the table in her room, sipped wine, and talked of pleasant, inconsequential things until the porter arrived with the tub. Several maids followed with steaming buckets.

"Yers is comin' right up, m'lord," the porter said. "Will ye take it 'ere, or do ye want it in yer own room?"

Casavir blanched, and Kayla's mouth fell open in stunned disbelief at the porter's candor.

"In my own room, please," he replied quickly, and stood up.

"Good night, my lady."

Once the paladin was gone, Kayla sank gratefully into the tub. She would be sore in the morning. She had ridden too far and too long not to be. But she had healing spells for that.

Casavir as a friend... she could live with that. She wanted him, true, but that need not affect her judgment. After all, she had been attracted to Bishop, too. There were probably a lot of men in Faerûn whom she might desire, and she was absolutely positive that not all of them were for her. Someone would be, one day. There's always another morning. It was not as if she were in love with Casavir herself. Perhaps she could have loved him, but that opportunity was unlikely to arise now. In her current state, though, she had to admit that what she really wanted was for him to be in love with _her_. It was a childish desire, she knew, and not a noble one, but denying its existence did not make it untrue.

Now that she was over her emotional outburst of earlier that evening, she was not even so sure of the paladin's lack of regard for her, or his infatuation with Shandra. What had been oh-so-clear before was far less certain when seen rationally. His attitude toward her shifted alarmingly before they had even met Shandra, running from apparent indifference to shy... whatever that was, and then back again. The pendulum might just be swinging the other way for a while.

She sighed. She really did have far more important things to worry about.

* * *

Casavir's promised bath arrived at his room not long after he did. He was glad of it. He was weary, he was sore... and he was dirty.

His second visit with The Lady had been much more satisfying than his first, though it had begun even more uncomfortably. She had very nearly caught him at his worst, but the important thing was that she had not, and the ever-resilient woman had once more made him feel relaxed and content, moreso than he had ever been around any woman he found beautiful.

She did not seek to change him. He knew that he was ill at ease among strangers, but she did not force him to endure it any more than was necessary for their mission. She encouraged him to participate in conversation with others, but she did not compel it, if he wanted to be silent. He was also aware that his manner of speech was more formal than most people used, the legacy of learning to interact with others through books, rather than in person. He had spent his childhood among priests. Older boys did not want a youngling tagging along, interrupting whatever leisure time their studies allowed with his juvenile questions and childish fancies, and there had been none his own age at the school. So, while his classmates spent their formative years doing whatever it was normal children did, he conversed with adult priests and paladins and read. Still, she did not find fault with him for that, or try to jolly him into "relaxing." Relaxing! How could such a simple word be so misused? He was most at ease when he could just do what he did, and talk the way he wanted to talk, without worrying that his listener would interpret his reserve as coldness, and that was precisely how she treated him. Nor did she change her own ways for him. That, too, was pleasing. To be fair, none of the others did, either, but that was one of the reasons he found his present company so agreeable. They all accepted him as he was.

If only he could do the same. The Lady's closest friend was a tiefling. Lathander was a tolerant god, and encouraged his followers to overlook racial bias in any form, but tieflings carried the blood of the lower planes. Having a demon for a sire was a bit different than having an elf, a dwarf, or a gnome for one. Yet he knew the tiefling was not evil. He had cast the spell, but more importantly, he had observed the creature's actions, and apart from the thieving, he could see no evil in her. And thievery was a human failing, not a demonic one.

Earlier, he had called The Lady's band misfits. It was true. Her companions were a tiefling who defied everything he believed to be true of the race, a gnomish bard who somehow failed to be entertaining, but who was endearing in his failure to be such, a dwarf who would rather be a monk, a sorceress who would not have been at home in any company at all, an elven druid who was much more comfortable around animals than people... and himself.

She'd done well. He'd put them all through three days of hell, and she'd come out of it with enough spirit to laugh at his nudity.

Those three days... he would have to watch them carefully, especially Shandra. The Lady was a Harborman, and would not sicken from a night in the rain, or those two weary days that followed. She would be sore, but she could cure that without his help. That vexed him. Nothing would have pleased him more than easing her hurts after the trials of the road, but she did not need him for that. She would probably not allow him to return the kindness she had done him after his wrestling match with Bishop... unfortunately... but it would have pleased him no end if she wanted him to heal her. Though perhaps it was improper for him to desire the opportunity to use his powers for such selfish reasons. But he had other companions. He owed them consideration as well. Neeshka's demonic blood kept her warm and she was a natural rider, besides. Elanee could be no less comfortable on horseback than she was walking. Her kinship with animals was too great for such a thing to trouble her. He'd done what was necessary to help Grobnar himself. The gnome was no rider, but his weight was no more two extra waterskins to Minnow, and Casavir had been heavier himself, once. Not that he'd likely see those days again, any time soon. Khelgar's extraordinary constitution kept him hale, so he need not worry about the dwarf. Qara would not sicken unless it was to her advantage, he was sure of it. But Shandra had neither The Lady's inherent toughness nor Qara's selective resilience. Three days of forced march might be hard for her to overcome. He could watch and wait. Tyr gave him gifts that might combat sickness in others.

The water was cooling, and he was exhausted. He would rest. In the morning, he would go to Sand's shop and buy a new bottle of scent for his leader... and a nightshirt. He might have one here. Such luxury! Tonight, however, he was content just to sleep.


	22. Bishop

_Disclaimer: Obsidian owns everybody but Kayla... and the horses, of course. They're also responsible for the Sunken Flagon dialogue and part of the exchange between Kayla and Casavir._

* * *

Kayla was awakened by a crash, quickly followed by another. A tall, emaciated shape was outlined in the doorway.

_Githyanki_!

And her mace was on the table, on the other side of the room. She sprang for it, but the githyanki was closing on her.

"The Kalach-Cha!" it cried, but it's cry of triumph turned into a gurgle. The pointed half of a shortsword stuck out the front of his chest. He blinked at it a moment in surprise, then slumped to the floor, dead. Duncan stood behind the falling githyanki, looking grim.

"Are you hurt, lass?" he asked anxiously.

"No," she breathed. She was suddenly reminded that her uncle had done much in the world before he had become an innkeeper. The one-time adventurer had not forgotten how to wield a blade.

"Grab a weapon and follow me," he barked. "The inn is under attack."

She obeyed, though she wore nothing but her nightgown.

They defeated four githyanki on their way to the stair, then another three on the stair itself. There were perhaps a dozen more in the common room, and the bodies of maybe eight more.

Some of her companions, at least, had joined the fray. Khelgar's battleaxe cut a wide swath around him, and Kayla saw Qara crouched behind the bar, popping up every few moments to lob a spell, though she noted the sorceress was using lightning spells instead of her more usual fireballs. Perhaps she had learned about the flammability of wooden taverns.

Where was Casavir? She saw him then, and allowed herself a sigh of relief. He used the Shining Light of Lathander, and the radiance from the blade made him look like an avenging angel. Kayla shook her head to clear it. This was no time to fall under the paladin's spell.

She fought hard, but she was hampered by her long nightgown, and she had not bothered to don the girdle. She had grown so accustomed to it that the mace was unwieldy to her. She missed a block and took a bad cut to one shoulder, but she still had the use of the arm, and she was able to kill the githyanki that did it.

It did not take them long to defeat the remaining githyanki. Looking around herself again, Kayla laughed. They all had joined the battle in whatever they had worn while sleeping, save Duncan, who still wore his clothing from the day before. Qara wore a chemise and Neeshka, a short tunic. Khelgar was the most startling, in nothing but his smalls, but she giggled when she saw Grobnar. The gnome wore a nightshirt with impossibly ruffled cuffs and collar. Casavir wore a short linen shirt and nothing else that she could see, though perhaps he wore smalls beneath it. Elanee wore nothing at all, but as she had polymorphed into a bear, it made little difference.

Some of the inn's other patrons had joined in the defense of the inn, but they, too were clad in night garments... except Bishop. He alone was fully dressed and armored.

Once the battle was over, it was time to tend the injured. Duncan had taken a disabling cut to his forearm, but Kayla was able to heal that easily enough, and none of the others were hurt... except for Khelgar, who had slipped in some ale and knocked his head on a table. He had a lump, but there was little mere wood could do to his dwarven skull. The table had come out of it the worse of the two, but that was a task for a carpenter, not a cleric.

"Where's Shandra?" Kayla gasped. She had counted her companions, but she had forgotten about the woman they were protecting. She looked at Duncan, Duncan looked at her, they both looked at Casavir, and then she and the paladin took off for the stair.

Her door was open, but she was not in her room. Her bed had been disturbed. The githyanki had taken her while she slept. Kayla had failed to protect her.

Casavir groaned. She spared him a compassionate touch on the arm. He must feel guiltier than she... and what of his feelings for Shandra? He must be in agony.

"We'll find her, Casavir," Kayla said softly, "I swear it."

He nodded grimly.

"We must inform Duncan," he said. "We should search the building and grounds, of course, but I fear she has been taken elsewhere."

So did Kayla.

* * *

"That lass, Shandra, has been taken?" Bishop heard the idiot innkeeper say. "How in the hells did those githyanki get into the city?"

"Does that matter?" he taunted. "You'd best hurry if you want to get her back."

He returned to looting the bodies. They didn't have much worthwhile, these things. Their swords were pretty, but they were no more valuable for it. The balance was mediocre, at best. No, he'd have to look harder if he wanted to find anything worthwhile, here.

Still, he found a splinter in one of their heels, and he could not resist the opportunity to show off.

"Look," he grunted, "this one has a sprig of Duskwood trapped in his boot. That means they came from deep within Luskan territory... and that's where they'd be returning to."

"Luskan..." Duncan glared at him, "that's your territory, Bishop."

"Yes," he drawled, "but it's not my problem. I'm not going into Luskan territory for some _farm_ girl, and certainly not with any kin of yours, Duncan."

"Shandra's life is at stake," the girl pleaded, "we need your help."

She was not too bad, that one, if you could ignore the flat chest. Still, he had been surprised before with what he found, once he got the dress off prospects more unlikely than her, and with an ass that good, he could overlook a lot... if it were not for the gods damned paladin she wore as a shadow. Bishop had his own score to settle with _him_.

"Is your whole family deaf, Duncan?" the ranger scowled. "Like I said, _not my problem._"

"You'll help them, Bishop," the old drunk said, "whether you like it or not."

"And what makes you think..." Bishop began to retort, but he could not finish the question. Duncan was looking at him, and he saw chains in the half-elf's eyes. Chains, and possibly a short, sharp drop at the end of a length of hemp.

He could do it, Bishop thought. Something icy slid down his spine.

"Calling it due, are you, Duncan?" he asked coldly. "Are you sure?"

"A woman's life is at stake, Bishop." There was no denying the steel in the old fool's voice. "If that's what it takes to move you to do the right thing, then so be it."

"Fine," Bishop snapped. "It will be worth it to be rid of you - and for such a small price, too. You're a fool, Duncan."

"So be it," Duncan said flatly.

Bishop shook his head, and went back to emptying the component pouch of the dead githyanki. It gave him a moment to think.

_Might not be too bad,_ he thought. _I can always renegotiate once we're out of Neverwinter. I'll be damned if I'm doing this one for free._

His mind supplied the image of Kayla on her back, with the paladin between her legs.

_He got there first, but I'll make her pay for it. I'll make them both pay for it. Yeah, she'll be paying me all the way to Duskwood and back, and there isn't a damn thing he can do to stop it. First, we've got to get out of the city._

"All right," he snarled, "pack your bags and grab your weapons. We're bound for the Luskan border. Follow my lead and don't try to be clever. If the Luskans catch us, they'll use us for target practice."

It still took the idiots two candles to get out the door. Would have been less, but paladin had dragged Kayla back up to her room, looking anxious. He suspected the idiot wanted one last fuck before giving up the privacy of an inn bedroom. Bishop followed, and went into the paladin's room, next door. He cupped his ear against the wall. It wasn't as good, hearing the grunts and creaking ropes second hand, but it did give him more to be angry about, when he finally got his turn.

He was surprised to hear angry voices on the other side of the wall.

"... Bishop," the ranger heard the paladin's voice, "I do not trust him, and I do not like the way he looks at you."

"Why do you care?" he heard Kayla say.

"Because he is a predator," the paladin answered. "Watch yourself - he is manipulative and dangerous."

"I know what he is," she replied. "But this is Shandra's life! I would have thought you, of all people, would appreciate that."

"I do, my lady," the paladin's voice was softer. Bishop had to strain to hear it. "But Shandra is not my only charge. Forgive me, my lady, it is not my affair, I only felt... compelled to warn you."

Silence followed. Bishop was too slow, and the paladin caught him leaving the room. The paladin glared at him, but neither spoke.

Two candles later, they were riding out the city gates. Bishop waited until they had passed the last of the guardposts before calling a halt.

"Why do we stop?" the paladin demanded. "We are barely out of Neverwinter."

"Princess and I have to have a few words," he sneered. He called her forward.

Kayla walked toward him. All her companions were still there, just at the edge of earshot, but Bishop did not much care if they heard him. They would find out, anyway. Like Karnwyr, Bishop liked to mark his territory.

"Time to settle on a price," he said. "I'm good at what I do, and my service is not cheap."

He smiled at the panic that rose in her face.

"We haven't that much gold," she said. "You can have a share of the treasure."

"Not good enough, Princess. I want my payment up front. But it doesn't have to cost you."

She looked at him curiously. Bishop lowered his voice. This next part was illegal, he knew, though it was unlikely a girl as green as this would know that. The dwarf would know it, though, and probably the paladin, so he had to keep them from finding out the worst of it, at least until he'd had his fun.

"You can pay me in flesh," he said.

"No..." she protested, "I couldn't."

"Don't be such a child, Princess," he leered, "it's practically the coin of the realms. And what do you think you were doing with the paladin, that night he spent in your room?"

"All I did was rub his back," she said.

"And that's all I'll ask of you..." Bishop paused for effect, "at least in the beginning. But don't worry, Princess. You can stop it any time you want, and I'll just draw you a map and send you on your way. I wouldn't dream of forcing you to do something you didn't want to do, after all."

"I see," she said, her voice flat. "Are those your terms?"

"Yeah," he said. "In exchange for easing the strain of the road every night, and a share of the treasure, I'll lead you to your precious Shandra."

"I accept," she said.

"See," he leered, "that wasn't so hard, now, was it?"

He turned his back on her and went back to his own horse.

_That was almost too easy,_ he smiled.


	23. The Coin of the Realm

_Disclaimer: Obsidian owns everybody but Kayla, but they were never responsible for this chapter, or the next._

_Note: This chapter and the next contain themes that may offend some readers. They contain coercive sexual situations._

* * *

Kayla walked back to the others, biting her lip. Something felt wrong about the deal she had just struck, but she would have to live with her fears. They needed Bishop's help, and he had asked her for no more than she might have volunteered anyway, if she saw that he was sore from travel.

"What was that all about?" Neeshka asked, when Kayla returned.

Kayla hesitated. She was reluctant to tell the tiefling what Bishop wanted, especially with Khelgar so close... and Casavir... but they would see her go to him in the evening, anyway, so she might as well say it.

"Bishop wants a rubdown as partial payment for his help," she said. She tried to say it quietly, but it was no use. Both Khelgar and Casavir heard, and they stared at her.

"That isn't legal, Lala," Khelgar grumbled. "A man's got no right to ask his commander for any pay besides gold, at least not in Neverwinter."

"It's just a backrub, Khelgar," she sighed resignedly. "And I didn't hear you objecting when we were wagering with them."

"That was because I knew Cas would win," the dwarf said. Casavir just stared reproachfully at her. She shrank from his reproof and focused on Khelgar.

"So," she said, "it's only illegal when it's Bishop? Come on, Khelgar. I've done it for you before."

"Yeah, but I didn't ask for it, you offered," the dwarf said. "And it was more of a healing thing, not because I get my jollies getting stroked by some twiggy girl who hasn't even got a beard. Same with Cas, I reckon, though I don't think he'd like the beard all that much."

Kayla heard Bishop ordering them to stop yapping and saddle up.

"We've got to get Shandra back," Kayla said. "I don't like his terms, but he isn't asking me to do anything improper. And we're not in Neverwinter anymore."

"Yet these lands still follow the laws of Neverwinter," Casavir said at last. "You may _offer_ to relieve the strain of travel..."

Casavir's voice faltered, but he recovered.

"... but you are under no _obligation_ to do so. My lady, I do not question your right to make whatever arrangements you feel are necessary, but I would advise you to take counsel, if you find yourself unsure as to the best way to proceed."

"Thank you, Casavir," she said, sighing. She feared she might have made an error in judgment, but it was too late to go back on it now. She was angry with Casavir, somehow, though the feeling was irrational, she knew. He always seemed to think that he alone knew what was best for her, and while he said he respected her right to make her own decisions, he clearly disapproved of her last two, at least. Did she resent his involvement? She was not sure, but she _did_ know that she was determined to prove that she knew what she was doing. She alone had secured Bishop's help, and Shandra's successful rescue would show Casavir and everyone else that she was competent to lead them.

The paladin avoided her for much of the day, but she hardly noticed. She rode behind Bishop, and listened to his terse descriptions of the land they crossed. Casavir had pointed out the flora and fauna of Old Owl Well to her, but Bishop spoke of his own travels, when he spoke at all. This place was the spot where he'd dodged a pack of bounty hunters, and that one, a place where he'd once stashed a cache of gems, but don't bother to use it, since he'd come back to find them gone. He was still bragging, she knew, but at least it passed the time.

At last, after covering some fifteen leagues, Bishop declared they would make camp. The sun was down, and they had barely enough light to make camp. Bishop, too, had his own lean-to, but he'd hung another tarp around the three open sides, enclosing it like a tent.

After they had eaten and banked the fire, Bishop turned to her.

"It's time," he said.

"Time for what?" Grobnar asked.

"Princess here has a bargain to keep," the ranger drawled. It was too dark to see his face, but Kayla was sure he was leering at her.

"Don't bother with a light," he said, once they were inside his tent. "I'll just make myself more comfortable. Here's linseed oil. It stinks, but it's better than a dry rubdown."

She did not rush. Once her hands touched him, she was in no hurry to break the contact. His back was muscular, and the feel of her hands sliding over his skin was pleasant... and somehow exciting. Bishop was not the mass of taut, knotted muscles that Casavir had been, so there was no need to dig painfully into his flesh to ease his stress. Massaging the paladin had been an act of mercy, she knew, and not erotic, but this... this was somehow more sensual. Her body responded to the intimacy, even as she tried to remain focused and detached.

When at last she left, she was almost reluctant to do it, and her own arousal disgusted her. Still, she had fulfilled her promise, and no harm had come to anyone.

Khelgar was waiting for her outside Bishop's lean-to.

"It's all right," she told him. "What are you doing here?"

"You're on first watch," the dwarf said. "You were busy, so I covered for you, for a while."

Kayla relieved him, and crossed the camp to Casavir's lean-to. Usually, she sat watch there, and the paladin kept her company until Grobnar relieved her and it was time for her to return to her own bedroll, but tonight, the paladin was rolled tightly in his bedding. He made no move at her approach.

"Casavir?" she asked softly. He remained motionless. Kayla listened for his breathing. The paladin did not snore, but he did breathe deeply, in sleep. Now, he was just as still and just as silent as he was when he was awake.

_He isn't sleeping,_ Kayla thought, _but he still doesn't want to talk to me. Fine. Let him sulk._

She sat watch outside the lean-to she shared with Neeshka. They had not brought Qara, this trip, so Elanee would have hers to herself... until they rescued Shandra.

There was no moon, and only enough starlight to see Grobnar go first to Casavir's tent. "Lala?" he asked softly, using Khelgar's nickname for her.

"Over here!" she hissed. The gnome turned.

"Oh! There you are," he said.

"Good night, Grobnar," she said, and rolled herself in her own blankets.

If Casavir had been cross with her the night before, he showed no memory of it the next morning. He greeted her cheerfully enough, when she went to him after her devotions, and they sat in companionable silence until most of his shift had passed. Ordinarily, they would have gone over the plans for the day they had made the night before, on Kayla's watch, but they had not met the night before, so there was nothing to discuss. Besides, with Bishop leading them, neither of them knew what he planned, apart from the fact that the journey would take four days.

They set out early and rode late, covering perhaps another fifteen leagues. Kayla was riding more comfortably now, and even Grobnar was improving. She had not needed a healing spell at all that first morning, and she doubted she would need one the next, either. Still, it was late when Bishop called a halt, and once more, they had very little light left to set up camp. The night was overcast, so they were even deprived of starlight. It would be warmer, perhaps, but very dark.

As on the night before, Bishop went to his lean-to as soon as dinner was cleared, and as on the night before, he removed his leathers, tunic, and shirt and lay stretched out on his bedroll. Kayla found him by feel, and went to work. Bishop was even more quiet tonight, and there was something expectant about the stillness.

When she finished, he rolled over onto his back.

"Not done yet, Princess," she heard Bishop say. A strong hand grabbed her wrist, then dragged her hand down to rest on the ranger's chest. She recoiled, confused, but he merely pushed her hand downward over his shaggy torso. She tried to withdraw, but he held her hand too firmly for that.

Her hand touched something below his navel... something stiff and very hairy.

"No..." she breathed.

"You know you want to," he whispered.

She sighed resignedly and wrapped her hand around him. For a while, he held her wrist, guiding her hand up and down along the shaft, moaning softly. Kayla shuddered. He might have lain with Bevil, but she had never touched a man like this. It felt odd, like there was a lot going on beneath the skin. Had Bevil been this large? No wonder it had hurt at first, when she lay with him. Would Bishop ask that of her? No, he seemed content to let her stroke him.

After a while, she even started to enjoy it. He writhed under her hands, bucking his hips and straining, as if he were inside a woman. Her hand was still slippery with linseed oil, but something wet touched her hand at the end of her stroke. Something had oozed out of him, and was now lubricating her caress.

She felt his hand on the back of her head, now. It pressed her downward toward him. Her lips touched him. She struggled against his hand, trying to rise, but he pushed harder, pressing her lips onto his manhood.

"Do it," he hissed in a barely audible whisper. "I won't be any good to you if the strain is tearing me apart, now, will I?"

She obeyed. The taste of the linseed oil was foul, and she gagged every time he pressed her head down, but she knew she was not getting out of this one. He had both his hands on her head, and he was still thrusting upward with his hips. She stilled that, at least, with a touch. Once she started moving of her own free will, he relaxed, and let her to it, though he did not take his hands out of her hair.

Once more, she responded to his body. There was a feeling of power in what she did. She was giving him pleasure, to be sure, but he was under her command. He would have his release or not by her touch. She rolled her tongue over him and felt him shudder. She could not take all of him, so she wrapped one of her hands around the base and stroked him.

He was all but panting, now. She felt a new kind of urgency, and quickened the pace. Finally, it was over. He relentlessly pushed her down onto him while he thrust his hips. She felt his manhood jerk, then throb, and gagged at both the roughness and the taste of his seed. He did not release her until he was spent, and lay still once more.

She shuddered. She felt dirty and defiled. She had imagined that she had control of it, but now she knew it to be a lie. He had used her as if she were nothing more than an extension of his own hand, a rag to wipe away the slime of his own pleasure. She still tasted the foul fishiness of the linseed oil and the bitter salinity of... she was going to be sick.

She fought to control her nausea. She made it past Khelgar, who waited by the cold fire circle, and waved him away.

"Are you all right, Lala?" he asked. She could not see his face.

"Yes," she gulped, praying she would not vomit.

"Are you sure?" he asked again.

"Yes! Now go to bed, or you'll fall asleep on your own watch."

She could not see him, but she heard him stomp away.

Her mouth filled with saliva. She swallowed it, but she was losing control. She made it as far as the back of her own tent before nature won. At least she could throw up quietly, she reflected bitterly, even as her stomach churned out yet more bile. At last, it passed.

Weak and shaking, she rolled herself in her blankets and settled herself by Neeshka. For tonight, she was glad that Casavir did not join her on watch. She wanted to weep.

What had she done? Was it so terrible? She had touched him, and worse, but she had not lain with him. He had not... been with her. He might have emptied his balls, but so had Bevil. There was no shame in that. It was a simple thing, the body's need to relieve itself. She had felt it herself, so she knew the powerful relaxation it brought in its wake. If she had done that for Bishop, well, she might not have gotten much of a chance to enjoy it, but she had done what she went there to do, if to a greater extent than she intended. It was just skin. Still, she felt filthy. She would wash in the morning. She'd fall in the stream, if she went now.

During the night, she heard each change of watch, and the whispered gambling of Khelgar and Neeshka. Every time she closed her eyes, she was jarred awake by memories of the candle she had spent in Bishop's tent. She had thrilled at part of it, and that revolted her now even more than his release had done.

When the sky started to lighten, she rose. She did not wake, as she had never been to sleep. She hefted her pack and ducked out of her lean-to. She saw Casavir in the gray pre-dawn light, but she ignored him. She needed all her attention for her devotions, and she could barely concentrate, as it was. She ducked behind her tent for privacy, and rooted through her pack for her holy symbol. The damn thing had slithered to the very bottom of it. She knelt in the dewy grass and tried to meditate.

For the first time ever, she could not pray. She clutched the solar disc, and fought for serenity until long past sunup, but she could not give thanks for the dawn. She was too dirty to face her lord.

Perhaps she would try again, after she had washed. The buckets were back at the fire... and so was the paladin. He would be starting the fire, by now.

Casavir was waiting for her at the fire circle, but she ignored him. If she could not speak to Lathander, whom she loved without reservation, she could certainly not speak to a stern, sinless paladin, and she feared the man would see her guilt and know what she had done. Her cheeks burned with shame at the thought. He was pure, uncorrupted. He had fought wars and maintained his honor, and she could not even lead a single mission without compromising hers. How could she even contemplate speaking to him, with a mouth as filthy as hers?

She scrubbed her hands and face until they were raw, but still, she could smell the linseed oil. It had soaked into the cuffs of her tunic. She would have to change, but it was too soon. She only had the one change of clothing, and no way to wash what she wore now without broadcasting her sin. With nothing else to do, she went back to her tent, rolled herself in her blanket, and tried to sleep.


	24. A Hard Lesson

_Disclaimer: Obsidian owns everybody but Kayla, but they were never responsible for this chapter._

_Note: This chapter, like the last, contains themes that may offend some readers. It contains coercive sexual situations._

* * *

Casavir woke at his usual time, half a candle before the dawn watch began, and packed up his belongings for the day's journey. He sat beside Khelgar.

"Nothing to report," the dwarf grunted, and went back to his own lean-to. Casavir stared after him. The dwarf was not usually this taciturn, and Neeshka was usually sitting up with him. Perhaps he was just having an off night. He gave it no further thought, and wrapped himself in his cloak, waiting for The Lady to make her appearance. She usually joined him as soon as she finished her devotions, and they would review plans for the day while Casavir finished his watch.

Today, she appeared at her usual time, but was far longer at her devotions than was her custom. When she was done, at last, she did not immediately join the paladin, but gathered the two leather buckets and went to the stream. When she returned, she set one by the cold fire circle, and began to light the fire.

"My lady," Casavir reminded her, "I do that."

"I was up," she said. "Excuse me, Casavir. I want to go back to my tent."

She did not wait for him to answer, but took the other bucket and disappeared behind her lean-to.

Casavir shrugged. It might be a female complaint. He got out the small kettle, filled it with water from the bucket, and poured some barley into the kettle. He set it on the fire. Breakfast was underway.

He returned to his seat, expecting his leader to come back once she had completed whatever it was she did behind the lean-to, but she did not. She simply ducked back under the front flap of it. The paladin stared after her, surprised by her sudden coldness toward him, but he reminded himself that he had only known the lady a month. Perhaps she, too, suffered occasional fits of ill humor.

By then, Elanee was up. She greeted Casavir cheerfully and peered into the pot.

"Thank you for putting breakfast on, Casavir!" she beamed. "Let's throw a few dried apples in there. I think it will be cool today, and it never hurts to start the day with something sweet when the weather is uncertain."

He smiled at the questionable logic of that, but he was becoming accustomed to the rather odd things the druid said. Elanee, at least, did not seem to be affected by whatever had afflicted Khelgar and his leader.

Bishop was the next one up. He emerged from his lean-to and stretched expansively.

"Looks like it's going to be a fine day," the ranger said to no one in particular, then went down to the stream to wash.

"We need more water, Casavir," Elanee said. "Barley expands a lot, while cooking. Where's the other bucket?"

"I'll get it," he said, rising. He went behind the lean-to The Lady and Neeshka shared to retrieve it, and stared at the disarray. The Lady usually cleaned up after herself, but today, she had not. She had left her pack open, with her holy symbol in the grass beside it. The contents of her pack spilled out onto the muddy ground, like she had dug for something she had stashed at the bottom and not bothered to put anything back. A wet lump of harsh soap was melting into the mud, with a dirty boar-bristle scrub brush beside it, and the surrounding foliage bore traces of soapy residue. The nearly empty bucket, at least, was still clean. He bent to retrieve it. An unmistakable, highly unpleasant odor greeted him. She had been sick behind the tent... or someone had. It might have been anyone, really, but given her strange behavior that morning, it was most likely his leader.

Concern overrode propriety, and he stuck his head under the flap of the lean-to. Neeshka was still sleeping, but The Lady was awake, curled up into a tight ball beneath a blanket.

"My lady, are you ill?" he asked softly.

"No, Casavir... let me sleep, please, just a little longer."

"My lady, I saw behind your tent."

"Dinner disagreed with me. Please, let me be."

"May I help you in some way?" Casavir feared their forced ride to Neverwinter had made her ill, after all. "If you are unwell, I can help you."

"I'm not ill," she said crossly. "I just need rest. We have to leave soon as it is. Please leave me alone."

Neeshka muttered something about shutting up and getting that damned paladin out of range.

Even Casavir could not ignore three requests from his leader, so he was forced to obey. He went behind the tent and gathered her belongings back into her pack. He rinsed the brush in the last of the water in the bucket and set that and her holy symbol on top of the pack.

By the time he got to the stream, Bishop was gone, and Grobnar had taken his place. He filled the buckets upstream and returned to the fire. Counting noses, he saw that only Neeshka and The Lady remained abed.

Khelgar was still in a foul humor, not speaking to anyone, but he poked the pot in the fire impatiently.

"Where's Lala?" he asked, at last.

"She wanted to sleep longer," Casavir said. "I fear dinner upset her."

"What in the nine hells is wrong with you, paladin?" he growled. "Get her up! If she's sick, you should bloody well be finding out what ails her."

"I'm all right, Khelgar," The Lady's voice said from behind the blanket she'd hung in front of her lean-to. To Casavir, she sounded weary, more than ill. The woman herself followed the voice, and she crawled out of the tent. Casavir went to her, and offered her his had to help her, but she refused it. She struggled to her feet.

She looked terrible. Her face was even paler than usual, and her eyes were ringed in purple. Casavir risked extending his powers toward her, trying to detect any illness in her body, but he could find none. She might just be weary, as she had claimed.

"I'll be fine, Casavir," she said. "Do we have any coffee?"

"Don't think I'm letting you off tonight because you're tired, Princess," Bishop sneered. Casavir wished he dared kick him. How selfish could a man be, to care more for his own comfort than a woman's health?

"I'll do it tonight," Elanee said. "She shouldn't have to go twice, especially not if she's sick."

"That wasn't the arrangement," the ranger said. "You do want to find that girl, don't you?"

"I'm all right, El," The Lady said, her voice a little stronger. "I'll be fine once I've ridden off the sleep. Just let me wake up, all right?"

After this inauspicious start, the day began. Neeshka was roused from sleep, their tents were packed, and they were off before the sun was three candles in the sky.

Casavir rode as rearguard, to ensure that they were not attacked from behind, but also to make sure no one wandered off. With Grobnar better able to manage his horse, this trip, the latter was a concern. The gnome would ride off to chase rabbits, if the fit took him. The lady had been riding behind Bishop each of the previous two days, but today, she rode further back, directly in front of Casavir. He preferred this arrangement, because it meant she spent less time in the ranger's company. Khelgar rode beside her today. That was unusual, too. The dwarf usually rode beside Neeshka, but today, he might as well have been The Lady's shadow. Even when Bishop called a halt, Khelgar followed her, though she had only gone off into the brush to relieve herself. When they returned, he overheard her telling the dwarf that if he insisted on following her again, she was going to put him on double watches herself.

But it was time for Casavir's and Elanee's devotions, so their noontime break would be somewhat protracted.

Khelgar was waiting for him after he'd finished.

"I need to talk to you," the dwarf said.

"Yes." Casavir rather expected that he did.

"What do you think of Bishop's 'arrangement'?" Khelgar asked.

"I do not like it," Casavir said. "It sickens me, in fact, but she has agreed to it, so there is little I can say against it."

"I think he's using her."

"Are you sure? It is only canvas, Khelgar. If he tried to force her, we would have heard."

"There's enough he could do to her that wouldn't make a sound. And she might have gone willingly."

"She is no wanton!"

"Stuff it, paladin. That isn't what I meant, and you know it. She's desperate to get Shandra back. What wouldn't she do to save a woman's life? What wouldn't _you_ do?"

"Can you be sure?"

"You didn't see her face when she left him last night, or you wouldn't ask that." Khelgar's voice was low, but it sounded clipped, as if he were struggling to contain some powerful emotion. Casavir looked at him more closely. The dwarf had never looked so grim. "She looked like she couldn't decide if she wanted to puke or cry."

"She was ill behind her tent." An ugly suspicion had begun to form in the paladin's mind, but he was reluctant to give it voice.

"I was afraid of this," the dwarf said. "From the moment he first put the proposal to her, I feared it would come to this."

"What do you fear?" the paladin asked anxiously.

"Damn it, man, you're a soldier. You've seen the sick things humans do to each other. I think he's making her pay him in flesh."

Casavir shuddered. He knew of the practice, though he naturally abhorred it. In return for service, a subordinate might demand carnal gratification in lieu of payment. A superior officer might also demand it in addition to other services, but The Lady would never ask such a thing of her followers. It was illegal in Neverwinter, of course, but he knew that certain mercenaries still considered it their due. A hard-bitten commander might consider it a small price to pay, or even an added benefit of command, but The Lady was not that kind of leader. Her favor was a gift of her heart, and for it to be so misused...

"Do you have proof?" the paladin asked at last.

"No," Khelgar aswered. "I tried talking with her about it last night, but she wouldn't even talk to me. When I insisted, she lied."

"Did Neeshka try talking to her?"

"How many people do you want to involve in this?" Khelgar asked incredulously. "I wouldn't have said anything to you if I had any other choice."

"We cannot allow this to continue." On this point, Casavir was resolute.

"I said I suspected it from the first, so I watched them. She goes to his tent when it's full dark. They don't light a lamp. No shadows, that way. She gives him a rubdown. The first night, that's all it was, but last night, he said 'Not done yet, Princess,' and she was in there for another half candle at least. When she came out, I got a good look at her face."

"What do you propose?"

"You go in her place."

"Impossible. I cannot condone the deception. I will ask her myself."

"Screw that. She'll lie to you even quicker than she lied to me, and you know it. We need proof if we're going to put a end to it. Tell you what. If he asks you who it is, you can tell him. Would that satisfy your conscience?"

"Amply... but there is another objection. My hands are twice the size of hers. He will never mistake me for her."

"And mine are bigger than that, and nothing smells like a dwarf but a dwarf. I don't want El or Neesh anywhere near him. Too bad Qara isn't here. She'd jump at the chance. Anyway, as long as you don't speak first, you'll probably get far enough along to find out what he's about."

"Smell... there's Karnwyr. The wolf will know I am no woman."

"Not if he's asleep, he won't. Couple of drops of sleeping potion on a piece of meat, and he'll be out until morning. Even El would approve of that one. It will probably do the animal good, the extra rest."

"Where will you be?" Casavir asked. They had been speaking for too long. They must conclude soon, or others would grow suspicious.

"I'll be distracting Kayla," Khelgar said. "Only one question I've got. What happens if we're right? We still need to get Shandra, and I don't trust myself not to kill him."

"Once we have Shandra, we can return to Neverwinter where he can be tried." Casavir said.

The dwarf shook his head.

"I'd as soon put an axe in his gut," he said, "but I guess we'll figure that part out later."

That afternoon, Casavir was as grim and silent as Khelgar and his leader. Once, he tried riding near her. He wanted to speak to her, to reassure her, somehow. She would not look at him, but it was just as well, because the paladin had nothing to say.

That night, they rode until sundown. They barely had enough daylight left to set up camp and fetch water. They had come far, but Bishop said the caves were still one more march away, and they should camp again before entering them.

After that announcement, the ranger disappeared into his tent. Karnwyr had been unusually well-behaved while everyone was eating, probably as a result of the "treat" Khelgar had given him, and he curled up on the ground outside Bishop's tent and went to sleep.

"Oh, my stomach," Khelgar groaned loudly. "You've poisoned me, Neesh!"

"I ate the same food you did!" the tiefling protested.

"I don't feel well at all!" he moaned, the staggered off into the brush. Elanee and The Lady ran after him.

Casavir sighed. It was time. He breathed a prayer to Tyr that The Lady might have justice, and added a fervent plea that he and Khelgar were mistaken.

Steeling himself, he lifted the flap that enclosed Bishop's lean-to. The light of the dying fire was just enough to show the paladin the ranger's outline in the dark. He lay on his belly, with his head pointed away from the opening. He released the canvas and knelt beside the ranger. Wordlessly, the ranger thrust out his hand. It held a flask of oil. Casavir took it carefully, so as not to touch the man's hand.

For perhaps a quarter candle, the ranger made no sound at all beyond the soft exhalations when Casavir's massage pressed the air out of his lungs.

"Feels good, Princess," Bishop grunted. "Glad you brought that strength belt. It's been a long day. Left shoulder, harder."

Casavir resisted the urge to obey that command with excessive force. It would all be over soon. A short time later, the ranger abruptly rolled onto his back, shifting his arms. Something that felt like a fold of cloth pressed against his knee in passing.

"No good, Princess," the man said suddenly, "still tense as hells. Might as well climb on... unless you want to pay me on your back, this time."

"Neither, I think," the paladin said gravely.

Casavir did not have the full range of spells a cleric might use, but he did have one minor one that conjured a light like a small candle. He used it.

Bishop lay on his back, as Casavir knew he would be. His leggings were pushed halfway down his thighs, and from his condition, he was obviously prepared for anything... except the presence of a wrathful paladin.

The ranger's eyes had flown open at the sound of Casavir's voice. Casavir was impressed with the speed with which the ranger recovered. He pulled up his leggings and had a sword out in the time it took the paladin to reach for his own weapon.

"What?!" the ranger cried. "You sick bastard!"

Casavir fought to control his fury. He must not slay the ranger, not now, not like this. He had proof enough that Bishop intended evil tonight, but that said nothing of the night before.

"I might say the same of you." The paladin was unable to completely modulate his voice, but he did not care. "What have you done to her?"

"Where is she?" Bishop snarled.

"She was detained," Casavir said more levelly. "I elected to take her place. Under the terms of your agreement, substitution would not have inconvenienced you at all, but I see you have not kept to the terms. I say again: what have you done to her?"

"Nothing she didn't want, paladin," the ranger growled, "so get that fucking hammer out of my face. Yeah, we had a little fun last night, but she liked it. She got a little hot herself toward the end... too bad it didn't last longer. A little more time to get my breath back, and I'd have had her screaming for more."

"You lie," Casavir spat.

"I don't," he retorted. "Ask her yourself, if you don't believe me."

Cursing the obligations that forced his hand, Casavir relented. He must verify or disprove the truth of the ranger's words before he could dispense justice... and at what price? If he killed Bishop, Shandra might well be lost. Was The Lady's honor worth another woman's life? Nothing the paladin had learned at the temple had prepared him for this.

"Khelgar?" he called softly. They had not been too loud. Hopefully, there was still someone in camp who had not heard the exchage.

"We're here," Khelgar's voice said softly, startlingly close. Casavir risked a glance over his shoulder. The screen that covered the front of the lean-to was open, and Khelgar stood in the opening... with The Lady. She looked at Casavir in horror. She blinked once, then fled into the darkness.

"Damn it," Casavir snapped, "guard him. If he moves, kill him."

He raced after her.

She had not gone far, only as far as her own tent. She lay huddled in her blankets, hugging her knees and weeping. Neeshka snored behind her, oblivious. He took a few calming breaths before he spoke. Bishop would be dealt with, and he must swallow his anger... all of it... if he was to be of any use to her. She likely thought his actions a betrayal. He must show her that they were not, and he could not do that if he were raging.

"My lady," he said softly, as soothingly as he could manage, "I beg you, please come away. We cannot talk here."

To his surprise, she obeyed him. Again, she rejected the hand he offered, but she followed him to his own tent and sat on his blanket when bidden. She no longer wept, he saw, but she looked impossibly forlorn.

"My lady..." Casavir did not know what to say. What could he say? He drew breath and tried again. "My lady, we did not seek to hurt you."

"I know," she said, her voice strangely flat.

"How much did you..."

"We heard Bishop call you a sick bastard," she said in that same, emotionless voice. "We arrived when you said 'she was detained'. Khelgar opened the flap while you spoke. We heard everything."

_Perhaps,_ Casavir thought, _but she didn't see him with his leggings down. At least she was spared that._

"Why did you do it, Casavir?" she asked. "We need his help."

"Yes," Casavir agreed, "and he is sworn to give it. My lady, I cannot deny justice. What has he done to you?"

She sighed. For a long time, she said nothing. Casavir waited. They had all night, if that was what it took to find the truth.

"Bishop was right," she said at last. "I was willing... and I... I did enjoy it."

"Then why were you sick behind your tent?" he demanded, though he tried to keep the command out of his voice.

"I felt dirty," she said. "I was sick because I was disgusted at myself. I was curious... and I was revolted by that. I mean I've... well... but never... Don't you understand? I can't talk about this with _you_, but I know you won't leave me alone until I do. He did not rape me, and I did not... lie with him. I... touched him and... never mind, and then it was over, and I hated myself for it, and that was the end of it. I'm ashamed of myself, and I wish the whole thing had never happened, but it did, and all I want is for everybody to just leave me the hells alone. Damn it, Casavir, I never wanted you to find out about any of this."

Casavir was mute with shock. Though she had been spared at least some of the horrors some in her position had endured, she had suffered, nonetheless. He had no idea what she meant by "never mind," and did not dare ask, but he was absolutely certain she had not enjoyed it, no matter what she said to him now. The worst part was that she believed that she was at fault, somehow. She had been humiliated and degraded and still felt herself to blame.

He longed to comfort her, but he feared the last thing she wanted was a man's touch. But then, if she thought he refused to touch her because she was soiled, that would hurt her, too. Caught between the desert and the dragon, he decided to risk a light touch to her hand, and see how she reacted. She flinched.

"Casavir... no," she choked.

"I will not hurt you, my lady," he said softly.

"I know, Casavir, I know," she moaned, "I am so ashamed..."

"Do not be ashamed, I beg you," he said firmly, "you have done no wrong. Do you hear me? Your honor is as free from blemish as it has ever been. Nothing he did can touch that."

"How can you even say that?" she sobbed. "You don't know know what I have done. I did it willingly, and I would do it again. I... Casavir, this is Shandra's life! Don't you understand? He won't help us unless he gets what he wants, and..."

Once more, Casavir had to steady himself. He wished he dared embrace her. He wanted to take her into his arms and soothe away her hurts, shelter her, but while that would calm his own impotent anger at Bishop, it would only hurt her worse. He leaned back on the heels of his hands and looked at her. She sat hugging her knees, rocking back and forth.

"Shandra's wellbeing is important to me," he said. "Do you remember the words of the Githyanki at her farm? They said she must be taken unharmed. They will not kill her before they find Jerro's Haven, and she has no memory of the place. Ammon Jerro would not have told a babe of his refuge. She is safe. The Githyanki can have no more knowledge of the place than we, and we have none. Put aside your fear for Shandra, my lady. It is testimony of the goodness of your heart, but you need not fear for her. No, it is your wellbeing that concerns me now. Will you not let me comfort you?"

"I'm surprised you even want to touch me," she said.

"Do you refuse it because I am a man, or because you feel yourself to be soiled in some way."

"Both!" she wailed.

"I made an oath to Tyr, my lady," he said. "I am a paladin, and have been since the moment of my birth. There is nothing that I am that is not shaped by that. As for the second, let me assure you that you are in no way polluted by his filth. His actions have blackened his soul, but yours shines brightly still."

For a few moments, neither of them spoke. Then, slowly, deliberately, she released her knees and leaned almost imperceptibly toward him. He shifted so that he sat closer to her.

"I am going to put my arm around you," he said. "If it makes you uneasy, speak, and I will withdraw instantly."

She did not resist, but allowed him to embrace her. She sat stiffly for several moments, but suddenly, he felt her go limp in his arms. She wept into his shoulder, but he let her cry. He did not know whether she wept from fear or pain, or some other emotion, but she must be allowed to release it before they could speak.

"How did you know?" she said at last.

"I saw your unease," he said. "All day, you have been distant where you have always been open, but I mistook your pain for fatigue after our forced march to Neverwinter. You did not have time to recover from that, and while I should have known that you are more hardy than that, I did not. Khelgar told me of his fears for you, and we made plans to put a stop to it. I am sorry for whatever deception he used to detain you. We hoped not to involve the others. My lady, I hope you may confide in someone whose presence is easier for you to bear than mine, but the choice must be yours. You alone can bestow your trust."

"I trust you, Casavir," she said. "It's just that..."

"I am a man," he said. "I understand."

"No, that isn't it... or not all of it..." her voice faltered, but she recovered. "I didn't want you to see me like this. How can you ever have any respect for me now? There's a name for a woman who gives pleasure in exchange for coin or goods."

"My lady... Kayla... no!" he gasped. "Do not believe that for a moment! There is also a name for taking such pleasure by force or threat, and the crime is punishable by hanging. That the threat was posed to another's life does not absolve him in the slightest. Believe me when I tell you that nothing he has done has lessened my respect for you."

She did not speak, but she did lay her head against his shoulder.

Now that the immediate danger was past, Casavir turned his thought to punishment. This was beyond his experience, and he had no idea how to proceed, though he knew he must.

"My lady, there are still questions you alone may answer," he said at last, reluctantly. "If he sought to dominate you, then it was an assault, and he must suffer the consequences. He will hang. If he sought payment in flesh, it is still a crime in Neverwinter, but it is not an unforgivable one. He will be flogged, but he will live."

"Bishop mentioned payment in flesh, and now you're talking about it, too," The Lady said. "What is it?"

With much hesitation and as little detail as he could possibly manage, he told her.

"That was what he did," she said. "Have you... I'm sorry, Casavir. I know you would never..."

"It has been offered, and it has been asked," he said.

"But you're a paladin!" she gasped.

"There was a time when Neverwinter was not as moral as it is now," he replied, "and the practice was more commonplace."

"Did you... accept it," she breathed.

"No, my lady," he said. "But pray do not think me more virtuous for my refusal, for it was cowardice, as much as anything else. I have never been easy around women... and I have no liking for men."

He swallowed. This was difficult. Of all the things he might have expected to talk about tonight, he had never thought he might be expected to discuss his own decidedly unhealthy sexuality with his leader.

"Bishop, too, will have memories of a time before it was outlawed," he said at last.

"Why was it?" she asked. "I mean... I see now that it's disgusting, but if it was so prevalent for so long..."

"Lord Nasher is a wise ruler, at times," Casavir said gratefully, glad to be talking of anything that did not involve his own libido. "It was never good for morale. Do not reproach yourself for that. You knew nothing of the custom. Now that you do, you will never be lured into it again."

"That's for sure," she laughed bitterly. She broke free of his embrace and stood. "Bishop will not be punished."

"My lady?" Casavir rose, too. He could hardly believe what she had said. "How can you forgive him so readily?"

"I haven't," she said. "He might be a dog, but we need one to lead us to Shandra. This is no hunting party, and we aren't looking for deer. We're in danger every moment. The risk he is taking absolves him, at least for this current offense."

"Are you certain?" he would have ordered the ranger flogged, but she was more merciful than he.

"I am," she said firmly. "And I must pull myself together. At least everyone is still asleep. Only you and Khelgar know, right?"

He nodded.

"Let's keep it that way," she said. She spoke to him as a leader again.

They walked back to Bishop.

"Let him go, Khelgar," The Lady said. "From now on, Bishop, you will do what is asked of you for no payment beyond one eighth of any treasure that remains after our expenses are paid."

"One eighth?" he snarled. "There are only seven of us!"

"Shandra will have a share," she said. "I have been informed that our prior arrangement was unlawful, so it is now dissolved. Should you feel that you can no longer serve under these terms, you are free to return to Neverwinter and tell Duncan why you have returned without Shandra. Are there any questions?"

"Just one, Princess," he smiled. "How did you like the taste of my -"

The slap of her hand across his face silenced Bishop, but Casavir had heard enough to complete the sentence she had not finished earlier, and wished he was still ignorant. No wonder she'd been ill. Still, the conversation was over. She was his leader, once more.

"You will never speak of that again," she said.

"Don't get pushy, Princess," he snarled. "Damn, this is going to be a boring trip."

The ranger pulled the flap back down over the front of his lean-to.

"Sleep, my lady," Casavir said. "I will take your watch."

"No, Cas," she said. "But if you'd to sit up with me a while, there's something I want to talk about."

She led him to his own lean-to, and seated herself on his bedroll. His spirits rose at her confidence, but they plummeted again with the words she spoke.

"I surrender leadership of this group to you, Casavir," she said. "I resign on grounds of incomptence."

"My lady, I refuse," he said.

"I am not fit to lead you," she went on. "You have led men before. You know what you're doing."

"I may not," he said. "My lady, my vows prevent me from accepting the service of a man like Bishop, but he is necessary to your cause. I cannot accept, and your actions have done nothing to make me question your fitness to command."

"How can you even say that, after what happened tonight?" She sounded weary.

"You made a mistake," he dismissed it. "I have made dozens. How old are you, my lady?"

She hesitated.

"I will be nineteen in a couple tenday," she said reluctantly.

"When I was nineteen," Casavir said, "I stood trial for murder. Your error in judgment may be forgiven."

"What?" It was too dark to see her, but he felt her turn toward him.

"Speaking of it still shames me," he admitted, "but if my discomfort eases yours, I can endure it. I engaged a man in a foolish duel and I killed him. The grounds were sufficiently tenuous to warrant a trial."

"But you were found innocent, weren't you?" she asked anxiously.

"I still live," he said. "Eleven years, I have borne that guilt, and it has never lessened."

He felt the weight of one of her arms around his shoulders. The other touched his hand. Now, it was his turn to recoil from the contact, but he mastered the desire to flee after no more than a reflexive flinch. The implied forgiveness of her touch overwhelmed him, and shamed him further.

_If she knew the rest, she would not embrace me. But I cannot tell her, even to ease her own conscience._

"You are one and thirty, then?" she asked, mercifully changing the subject. "When is your birthday?"

"In the winter, sometime," he replied.

"Don't you know?" she asked incredulously. "I don't know mine, but that's because my foster father is an elf, and they reckon birthdays in rather general terms, like 'I was born in the Year of the Effervescent Turnip,' or something like that, so I just call it Greengrass. It's as good a day as any other."

"I went to the temple when I was six, my lady, and personal things like birthdays are not observed. I remember my mother giving me a gift in the winter, though I could not tell you the day."

"We'll make it Midwinter, then," she said, tightening the fingers that touched his hand.

They sat in silence for a few moments. It had begun to rain. After perhaps a quarter candle of listening to the patter on the canvas, he heard her yawn. The arm around his shoulders fell limp, and she leaned against him.

"My lady, you are weary," he said gently. She startled. "I will take the remainder of your watch, if you will return to your bedroll."

"No, Cas..." she said around another yawn, "... I can manage. Stop trying to discourage me from doing my chores."

He smiled, though it was too dark for her to see.

"No, my lady," he said softly, "I know you are most diligent. Still, if you will not sleep, you may at least allow me to make you more comfortable. You can remain wakeful, if you wish, but please lie down."

He felt her settle onto his bedroll. He draped a blanket over her. After a few moments, her breathing slowed. He covered her with his other blanket and tucked the edges closer to her body. He fought the desire to make some light so that he might see her sleeping. He feared it might wake her.

The flaw in his plan became apparent to him the moment Grobnar came to relieve him. She slept in his bedroll, so he could not, and he could not very well use hers, since she shared her lean-to with the tiefling. He would rather lose a night's sleep than wake her, so he contented himself with wrapping himself more tightly in his cloak and resting against the upright of his own lean-to. He should probably give her more distance than that, but it was raining. He rejected the idea of lying beside her. The temptation to embrace her would be too great to endure, and after her ordeal, she would never be able to bear it.

His mind went back, as it often did, to Old Owl Well, but this time, he did not dream of orcs or his own self-imposed isolation, but of that night he had held her. He remembered the serenity of the embrace, and the warm, gentle contentment he felt with her in his arms. If he had ever been happy, it was surely then. He treasured the memory, and slept.


	25. Daggers

_Disclaimers (and a warning): Obsidian owns everybody but Kayla and Dermit. They are also responsible for most of the Ember dialogue. Bishop's language is pretty foul. He's had a hard life._

* * *

It was well after sunrise when Kayla awoke. She felt the sun warming her closed eyes. She savored the sensation. The time for her devotions was long since past, so she might as well enjoy an experience she had never known before, that of waking up with the glory of her god already about her. The sun warmed her blankets, too. They were rougher than she remembered, and smelled different, yet still familiar, musky and faintly spicy, with a strong hint of soap. But how did she know this scent? She sought the memory. Neverwinter, she was certain, the Sunken Flagon... bare, smooth, manly skin... Casavir.

She opened her eyes, and found that she was looking at a man's armored leg. Not surprisingly, there was a man at one end of it, and the man was indeed the paladin. He sat leaning against the upright of the lean-to, sound asleep. She must have fallen asleep on watch, and he had finished her shift and remained sitting rather than disturb her.

She shuddered as the events of the last two days returned to her conscious memory, but it was too late to do anything about that now. There was always another morning, and this morning, she would learn how to lead her group without breaking any more laws... or adding any more items to the list of things she would regret.

The paladin had a list like that, too, she recalled. His admission had come as a surprise to her. She had always assumed they led faultless lives, united in holy perfection with their gods, but apparently, that was not the case. Casavir, at least, had done a few things in his life that caused him regret, and worse. He was more human to her for that. If he could overcome sin to become the man that sat sleeping beside her, she could rise above her own failures.

She had been abed long enough, though. Elanee was awake, and busy fixing breakfast. Grobnar, too, and Khelgar. Even Neeshka was awake.

A pair of boots appeared at the end of Casavir's lean-to.

"Wakey, wakey," Bishop spat. Before Kayla could stop him, he put his booted foot on the paladin's arm and pushed him over. Casavir woke as he fell, but too late to keep himself from landing face first in the dirt.

"Well, hello, Princess?" Bishop leered at her. "I thought you weren't putting out anymore. Where does the line form? I wouldn't want to miss my turn."

"Just shut up," she glared irritably. "How soon can we be ready to leave?"

"How soon can you get His Holiness off his ass? I'm ready to go now."

The ranger stalked off, and she turned her attention to Casavir. He'd gotten his elbows under himself and was sitting upright once more, but he blinked and stared like he was not completely aware of his surrroundings.

"Poor Cas," she said. "You don't wake up too easily, do you?"

He cleared his throat.

"Apparently not," he said, yawning. "Was that Bishop that kicked me over?"

"I'm afraid so," Kayla fumed.

Casavir just shook his head, then his eyes opened wider.

"I slept through my watch!" He was clearly horrified.

"Khelgar probably just took a double," Kayla said, rolling up the paladin's blankets. "He'll be fine, and you needed the rest. You had a rough night..."

"We both did..." he looked at her, concerned. "My lady, are you..."

"I'll live, Casavir," she said crisply. "Thank you for letting me sleep, but I need to make my devotions. Better late than never."

Lathander was an understanding god, Kayla soon discovered. Perhaps he took pity on her after the events of the last two days, but she rose from her devotions refreshed, and with all her spells available.

It also appeared that Khelgar had bullied Neeshka into packing Kayla's gear as well as her own. Even the canvas tarp of the lean-to had been carefully folded and stowed on Scrumpy.

"We'll make for Ember," Bishop said once they were mounted. "Plenty of water, and the quartermaster keeps an inn. We'll hit it near sundown."

They rode in silence most of the day. That suited Kayla, as she did not really feel like talking. Three days, Shandra had been in captivity, if she was even still alive, and Kayla grudged every moment. Still, they had no idea where to start looking, apart from Duskwood, and that was still a day away.

From a distance, Ember looked to be about the size of West Harbor, with maybe a dozen houses clustered around a central green, and as many further out, set amid farms. It was a place to break their journey, and Kayla looked forward to sleeping in a bed, for a change.

"Get up here, Princess," Bishop hissed. "Something isn't right."

Kayla looked around. It was late afternoon. In West Harbor, the village square would be crowded with farmers coming in from the fields or herding their livestock back to their barns, but nothing moved.

"It's deserted," Kayla said. "No villagers, no livestock... it looks abandoned."

"Good eyes," Bishop muttered. "I noticed the villagers, but you're right about the livestock."

His eyes narrowed. He appeared to be thinking.

"But we're on the trail of _friends_, though. They're moving fast, but it looks like we've closed in a bit."

"Let's watch a moment," Kayla said, "see what happens."

"I don't usually go for the cautious approach," he answered, "but this time, I think you're right. Keep your eyes open and your weapon ready. I smell an ambush."

Bishop was right. The villagers might be gone, but githyanki were out in force. They sprang their trap as soon as the lead horse, Bishop's dapple gray Ghost, passed the first house. Kayla had never fought on horseback before, and she did not like it one bit. But she survived the first wave. Casavir and Bishop had borne the brunt of the attack, but the two men were accomplished riders, and well used to mounted combat.

"Nice little ambush they planned here," Bishop sneered. "Decent effort, sloppy execution. They left a large force in this village... which means it'll be easier on us when we catch up to the others - as long as we catch them before they go to ground."

" If their forces are divided, good," Kayla was skeptical, "but that means the remainder will travel faster, and the trail will be harder to follow."

"Well, aren't you the bright little ray of hope?" he scowled.

"She was just pointing out the realities of the situation, Bishop," Casavir said firmly.

"I suggest you rein in that attitude of yours, paladin," Bishop spat. "What, you think our leader can't speak for herself?"

"It was not my intention to speak for her." The paladin looked away.

"Then don't, and maybe next time, you'll sound convincing," Bishop snarled at his retreating back. "What I was going to say is our leader's right... and what's more, our friends won't be leaving an obvious trail this time, since they don't have the men to bait any more ambushes. "

Kayla would not leave the village until she had checked every house. She worried about that the githyanki had harmed them. Casavir had approved, naturally, but Bishop had muttered darkly about it. It did not matter, much, in the end. They found no one.

Just as they were mounting to leave, a dirty, soot-covered woman crept out of a smokehouse.

"Forgive me..." she said tentativley, "but are you looking for a woman? Shandra Jerro?"

"Yes!" Kayla cried. "Have you seen her?"

"I heard her screaming as they carried her off," the woman replied. "I tried to call out to her, but..."

She shook her head and looked meaningfully at the bodies of the dead githyanki.

"I knew her at once. She makes a merchant run through Ember and Port Llast every season, but she had not been through yet, and... I'm sorry. Where are my manners? I'm Alaine. Please, I saw the beasts taking her to the mountains to the north and east - they barely have an hour on you, but they were moving fast. And thank you for saving us from those creatures, I can't thank you enough."

"Try," Bishop leered.

"That's enough, Bishop," Kayla snapped. "It was no trouble, Alaine. Thank you for your help... and we will rescue Shandra."

"You have our word, Alaine," Casavir said solemnly. "We shall do what we can to return Shandra to safety."

"We promise no such thing," Bishop sneered. "In fact, she could be dead - but we'll follow this trail as long as we feel like it. Now run back home with the rest of your scared kinsfolk."

"Forgive him, Alaine," Kayla tried to excuse him. "It takes a dog to hunt dogs."

"That's the truth," Bishop laughed. "Ah, I might like this journey after all."

Kayla rolled her eyes. The last thing she intended by that was a compliment, but Bishop was a strange beast... with the emphasis on "beast."

"We should be off" she said, but the ranger shook his head.

"This is as far as we go tonight," he said. "No use losing the trail in the dark. I'll find the start of it now, while there's still a little light, but in another candle, this place will be blacker than the underside of midnight.The villagers might still be hiding in their holes, but they didn't take their beds."

"I'm not sleeping in someone's house without permission," Kayla said firmly. "Alaine, do you know if all the farmers in the surrounding area went to ground, or is it just the village itself?"

"You can try Dermit's farm," the villager said. "He's two miles outside town. I doubt he even knows what happened here today."

"Thank you, Alaine," she smiled hopefully, "we'll do that."

It took a bit of work to find the farm. It lay at the end of a long lane, and the buildings were not visible from the road... or would not have been, if it were still daylight. They were forced to use Kayla's light spell to stay on the road at all.

Dermit and his family were sleeping when they arrived, and he greeted them warily, but Casavir dispelled his suspicions about them quickly. No, they might not take shelter in the house, since he was already playing host to several of Ember's villagers and his own family was large, but they might sleep in the barn, as long as they kept their horses out of his hay. A small handful of coins changed his mind on that matter, however, and he declared that the animals might eat their fill, and have a share of the oats, as well. They settled themselves in the barn with the farmer's blessing.

"Casavir," Kayla whispered to the paladin, "may I put my bedroll beside you?"

For several heartbeats, he just stared at her, blinking. The dim light of Dermit's lanterns was just bright enough for her to make out his anxious expression.

"Do you fear that he would assault you here," he asked at last, his voice barely audible, "with all of us so near?"

"No," she admitted, "I do not think he will... try anything again, now that he knows it will not work, but... I'm sorry, Cas, it's still so soon. My head knows that he's safe enough, but..."

"But you fear it, nonetheless," the paladin sighed, but he looked even more worried than he had a moment before. "I understand."

"It's just I feel so safe when you're near... I'll sleep better..." a sudden thought came to her then, and she blushed scarlet. Casavir, too, was a man. He might long for Shandra, and she was certain he had never harbored an impure thought toward herself, but he might still be uneasy sleeping that close to a woman, even a woman who looked more like a boy.

"I don't mean that we should share blankets, or anything!" she said quickly. "I don't want that, either. Just that I'd like to put my blankets close enough to be in your aura. We can put your greatsword between us."

Several more heartbeats passed before he answered.

"Very well," he said, though she could hear his reluctance in his voice.

He waited for her to lay out her bedroll and wrap herself in her blankets before settling himself near her. He carefully placed the Shining Light of Lathander between their bodies. Either might reach out a hand and touch the greatsword's hilt.

If any of her companions noticed their proximity, they did not comment. She was not surprised, however, that Khelgar put his own bedroll nearly as close on the other side of her.

"All right," the dwarf rumbled, "now that we're all nice and snug, who's going to get up and put out the lantern?"

"I'll do it," Bishop sneered. "Wouldn't want Princess' plaything to fall out of the loft, now, would we?"

"Let it go," Kayla whispered when she heard the paladin starting to rise. "It isn't worth it."

A moment later, they were plunged in darkness. Even the greatsword was dark.

_Maybe it has to be held to glow,_ Kayla wondered. She reached out her hand and grabbed the hilt. Nothing. _Maybe it has to be held by someone worthy of it, she amended bitterly, someone who... never mind. He can use it, you can't. It's always been like that. He's almost close enough to touch, just like you wanted, and his aura is all around you. Go to sleep._

* * *

Bishop lay on his back, staring up into the darkness, cursing the dwarf and cursing the bitch, but mostly cursing the paladin. It had been going so well. She couldn't suck worth a damn, but she gave a great backrub, and he had been so close to getting laid, if only that wilted staff of a paladin hadn't ruined it. Tiny as she was, she had to be tight.

Or maybe he could get the elf to unclench her knees... hells, horny as he was, he'd even do the tiefling. Now there was a bitch with nice tits, even if she did have a voice that would cut glass. She'd probably be easy, too. A compliment or two, and... ah, even that sounded too much like work. And none of this was helping his immediate problem. Right now, he wanted a screw, and he wasn't getting one. He'd have to make do. It wasn't his idea of a good time, but it would last him until he could get one of the women to do it for him.

The bitch had been good at it, he reflected. She had no idea what to do with her mouth, but she sure knew how to use her hands...

And so did the paladin, the sick fuck. That self-righteous bastard had him roused in no time, and probably yanked it all night, after getting a look at his goods.

The memory of his arousal at the paladin's touch was enough to put a halt to any self-gratification he might find tonight. It was almost enough to put an end to dinner, too.

Still, it was the paladin's fault, not his, so Bishop rolled himself in his blankets and went to sleep.

Bishop did not sleep long. An urgent bladder reminded him of one thing he had forgotten to do before retiring. The moon had risen, and the open door of the loft admitted enough of its light so that Bishop could get across the floor without lighting the lantern. He stood in the doorway for a few moments, watering the ground beneath the door, then turned to go back to his bedroll. His gaze fell on his leader... and the paladin.

Before they went to sleep, the fool had put a sword between them, but he might as well not have bothered. The pair of them now lay wrapped around each other in sleep.

_Oh, yeah, he's taking his pay in gold, all right, just like everybody else. Dragon dung. Two can play at that game._ He might have to do without for a while, but he could be patient.

* * *

Casavir dreamed. He was cold, standing alone on a high, barren plateau while the wind tore at him, stealing even the warmth of his own body. He saw a refuge before him, an oasis of light and calm, but to reach it, he had to cross a barrier, a hedge of flaming swords. He leapt.

He saw a glowing pillar in front of him, the source of the radiance. Warmth and peace flowed from it, but it was still too far away for him to touch. He reached for it. His fingertips grazed it, and the contact almost overwhelmed him, so great was the longing he felt to embrace it. Something was holding him back, heavy, gray, tentacle-like things that wrapped around him and made his limbs feel leaden. He strained against the confines that held him, but they were unyielding. They were rooted in his very flesh. Ignoring the pain, he tore them off his body.

Free at last, he threw himself at the pillar and flung his arms around it. He clung to it, and let the light enter him. The glow filled him, consumed him, even, but he felt no loss. A benevolent stillness permeated his being. For the first time in his adult life, he felt hope, and his contentment was so great he did not care if he was bound to that pillar for all time. He welcomed it. There was rightness in what he did, and he knew the joy of completion. He belonged here.

* * *

The world was falling down around Kayla. She was surrounded by falling stone, darting this way and that to avoid being crushed. She saw a glowing portal in front of her. She ran for it. Just before she stepped through, she turned. Casavir was behind her, but he was not moving for the portal. He lay motionless under the weight of a huge slab of rock. She reached out to him, but it was too late. He was dead. Screaming, she jumped.

She fell through the darkness for what felt like years, but something caught her. Strong arms lifted her and bore her up to the light.

Now, she stood atop a wall. The morning sun shone across well-tended farms, and lit the forms of two riders on the road below, a dwarf and a tiefling. She waved a joyful greeting to them.

She held the hand of a child, a black-haired girl of perhaps six summers, and her belly was big with another. Casavir stood on her other side, with his arm around her waist. His other arm held a sleepy, copper-haired toddler on his hip, and an older, dark haired boy stood on his other side, waving exuberantly at the approaching riders. She looked up at the paladin's face. He was older, she saw, and his black hair was shot with silver, but her breath caught at the joy she saw in him. He beamed at her and kissed her upturned face.

* * *

Kayla awoke in the expectant pre-dawn hush. She knew where she was, in the barn of a farmer named Dermit, but she did not know why she could not move, nor did she know why she felt like she had sandbags piled on top of her body. She found out as soon as she opened her eyes. She lay in Casavir's embrace. She was using one of his arms as a pillow, and the other clutched her to his chest. She had her own arm about his waist. One of his legs lay across her, too, and she had woven one of her own through his. Her cheek was pressed into the hollow of his shoulder, and she could hear the slow, peaceful beat of his heart.

For a moment, she panicked to be so near a man, but this was Casavir. He was too honorable to abuse her trust, and his heart was given to another. She could not explain the intimacy of their embrace, but she was absolutely certain that he meant no more by it than protection, unless he sought to comfort her even in sleep. He was innocent of any malicious intent himself, so he could hardly be expected to understand how unsettling his closeness was now.

Had Casavir been any other man, she was certain that she would have screamed, but even in sleep, his aura soothed her. She could let it be, and enjoy the stillness of his presence. With him, she did feel safe. With him so near, nothing could hurt her. Indeed, their bodies were woven together. Still, it was awkward, and her companions might wake at any time. She tried to move her leg from between his, and shift his own leg off hers.

The paladin woke at the first movement. She froze, praying he would go back to sleep so she could extricate herself, but it was not to be. He opened his eyes and looked at her. His sleepy features showed no sign of comprehension, at first, and he clutched her tighter.

"No!" he breathed, and his limbs tightened about her. Then his eyes flew open wide, and he looked at her in horror. He jumped away from her and shuddered.

"My lady," he pleaded, kneeling in the straw, "forgive me. I intended no evil, I swear!"

"Hush, Casavir," she whispered. "It's all right. Lie back down... just not quite so near... pull yourself together a moment."

Miraculously, her companions still slept.

He did lie back down, in the straw beside her, though he did not touch her. Almost reluctantly, he leaned toward her.

"My lady," he gasped, though his voice was no more than a whisper, "what have I done?"

"Nothing, Casavir," she whispered. "You've done nothing wrong. Hush now, it's all right. There, now, take my hand. See, there's nothing wrong."

Gradually, he calmed. His breathing returned to a sleepy rhythm, and his eyelids drooped.

"You really are a heavy sleeper, aren't you?" she whispered, eying the greatsword that lay behind him. When they went to sleep, it had between them, but Casavir must have rolled over it and never known.

He nodded, but looked embarrased.

"Yes, my lady," he whispered. "I always have been. That is one of the reasons I am so adamant about setting capable guards. I... I don't know what came over me. I should never have drawn so near to you."

"It's all right, Casavir," she reassured him. "I was having nightmares, but suddenly, they stopped. That must have been when you... er... you know. After that, my dreams were very pleasant, soothing, in fact."

_Very, very pleasant,_ she added silently. _So much so that I wish I'd never woken up, because they'll never be anything more than dreams._

"Indeed?" he asked in a whisper, though she felt his tension. "I was having ill dreams myself, until the last. Forgive me, my lady, I should not be so selfish."

"We need to talk," she whispered back, "but this isn't the time for it. Will you ride with me, today?"

"Yes," he answered obediently, though he looked like he would rather chew horseshoes.

It was still perhaps a quarter candle before dawn. If today was like any other morning, she might hope to return after her devotions to half a candle's rest... and perhaps half a candle in the paladin's arms. She hated herself for taking advantage of his grogginess. She knew he did not welcome the intimacy, nor did he particularly want to sleep beside her, but she knew she'd curl up next to him anyway. It was hard to explain. Even if he did not want her, it felt good to be so near him. It satisfied some need she had not even known she had. She now understood why a litter of puppies would sleep jumbled on top of each other.

"Can you go back to sleep?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered guiltily. He worried about Shandra's safety, she saw, but he was still weary. These long, grueling days were hard on him, and he did not seem to have the resilience that she, Khelgar, and even Bishop seemed to have. Elanee and Neeshka felt it more, but they did not have the cares that the paladin had.

When she returned to him, she lay down with her back to him. He did not wake, but allowed her to settle against him. In sleep, he put an arm over her and pulled her against him.

Any hopes she might have had were dispelled by movement in the barn below. Dermit's was an active farm, and farmers were at their chores as soon as it was light. Everyone was on their feet at the loud rumble of the barn door.

"'Morning, Princess," Bishop leered. "Hope you enjoyed your little cuddle with His Holiness. Don't know if it's going to pay off, though. He likes men, you see. But maybe he can't tell the difference, in your case. You could pass for a boy, in the dark."

"Insult her again -" Casavir began.

"Ignore him, Cas," Kayla said wearily. "He isn't worth your sweat."

"That'll cost you, Princess," Bishop snarled. "You want to find your farm girl or not?"

"Let's just go," she answered quickly, before the paladin could speak. It was too early in the day for another fight.

"What was that all about?" Neeshka asked as they rode back toward Ember.

Kayla sighed. She did not want to tell the tiefling about Bishop. She did not want to talk about it anymore with anyone. But Neeshka had an earful that morning, and she doubted the tiefling was going to let it drop.

"Bishop wanted more than a backrub," Kayla said tersely. "It was dark in Bishop's tent, and I guess he couldn't tell that it was Cas rubbing his back, not me. Anyway, long story short, Bishop thinks Cas is responsible for his own dirty mind, and he thinks Cas is getting something he can't have."

"Is he?" Neeshka whispered.

"Only my respect," Kayla answered.

"But you slept with him last night!" Neeshka was nothing if not persistent. "And the one before, come to think of it."

"It was just sleep, Neesh," Kayla hissed. "And he didn't come anywhere near me the night before last. He was sitting up the whole time."

"Oh," the tiefling looked disappointed. "I thought he just got up because you stole all his blankets. You really are a terrible blanket theif, you know. I spend half the night trying to get my own back."

"Yeah?" Kayla retorted. "Well... you snore!"

"Do not," Neeshka said petulantly.

"You do," Kayla laughed.

"Would you?" Neeshka whispered. "Sleep with him for real, that is?"

"No," Kayla said sadly. "I think... I think he prefers Shandra."

"Duck droppings," Neeshka disagreed. "He was just being nice. He's a paladin. They do that. You never know where you stand, with one. They're so polite to everyone, it's hard to tell when they mean it."

"Listen, Neesh," Kayla said, "I know you mean well, but it's hopeless. Just let it go. Anyway, I should fall back. Cas promised to ride with me so we could talk about something, and I don't want to make him wait all day for it."

"Shoo!" Neeshka rolled her eyes in a gesture that clearly said "told you so."

Regardless of what Kayla wanted, she was not fated to have her talk with Casavir that morning. The githyanki's trail was easier to see in the morning light. It looked to Kayla like they did not even bother to try to conceal it. She supposed that creatures accustomed to astral travel might not be as skilled overland as others might be, but as they could not take Shandra through the astral plane, they had to make their own clumsy way on foot. That also explained why they were gaining on them. Even if they took no breaks for sleep, they would be slower, without horses.

As they were leaving the village, a boy approached them.

"It's you..." he said, "you're the one who will destroy Ember."

"What?" Kayla blinked. "But I don't mean this place any harm."

"There is something about the child..." Elanee whispered, "he is in touch, not with the land, but with something else, perhaps greater."

"Wait..." the boy said, "no... I was mistaken. Strange... the killer looks like you, but isn't."

He looked at all of them, then turned back to Kayla. When he spoke, his voice was clear, and very certain.

"Ember cannot be saved," he said matter-of-factly. "All within the village when the time comes will perish except one – me. I think you are carrying something which will allow me to survive. You cannot help me in any other way."

"What about the other villagers?" Kayla asked anxiously. "Can't we help them as well?"

"Ember's fate is set in stone," he said sadly, "but mine is not. However, I will share Ember's fate unless you help me."

"Very well," she said. "Have a look and see if I have anything you can use."

"No," he said, looking through her things, "there's nothing here I can use. What about him?"

The child was looking at Bishop.

"What _about_ me?" the ranger demanded.

"Let him have a look, Bishop." Kayla rolled her eyes.

"Fine," Bishop sneered. "Try to take anything, and I'll take both your hands as trophies. Got it?"

"Your knife - it is... different. I believe it can save me." The boy pointed.

"My skinning knife?" Bishop asked incredulously. "I've had this thing forever. There's nothing special about it."

"Just give him the knife, Bishop," Kayla said. The ranger stared defiantly at her. "I'll make sure you're rewarded ten times over."

_After all,_ Kayla thought, _it's only a dagger. It's worth what? Two gold?_

"That so?" Bishop smiled evilly, but he handed the boy the knife. "Fine... but I'm not going to forget this, _or _how much you owe me."

"Thank you," the boy said. "We shall meet again soon, I think."

The boy walked away, and they resumed riding along the trail. Casavir pulled alongside her and put his hand on her reins.

"That was unwise, my lady," he said. "You encourage the ranger."

"He'll have to settle for gold," Kayla said. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"As you wish," the paladin said, and started to fall back.

"Wait, Casavir," she said, reining in her horse so she could walk with him. "About what we said this morning..."

"I do not wish to talk about that, my lady," he replied cooly.

"Cas, I'm sorry about Bishop," she said. "But we still need his help, and that boy felt that his life depended on that stupid dagger. How else was I going to get him to give it up?"

"I would have just ordered it," the paladin said.

"And he would have cut your throat two nights later," Kayla replied. "Casavir, I have less reason to love Bishop than you, but we need his help. Please... don't make this any more difficult than it already is."

He closed his eyes briefly and sighed.

"Very well, my lady," he said at last. "I will follow your lead."

They rode in silence for a moment or two.

"About our sleeping arrangements..." Kayla began.

"Yes," he said, his voice heavy, "my lady, I must ask you to not to... lie beside me again, nor request it of me. I sleep soundly, my lady, and... and I fear that I might behave inappropriately toward you without intending it."

"But Casavir," she said, a lump rising in her throat, "we both sleep better when we... lie close. You said yourself that -"

"My lady, I was half-asleep when I uttered those words, and I regret them. I should never have spoken so unguardedly. Is it not enough that I am uncomfortable with the thought of lying beside you? Must I also live with the fear of what I might do in the stupor of sleep, without even knowing who I... forgive me. I have nothing but respect for you, my lady, but in sleep... I am not master of my actions."

His words hit her like a bucket of Ches rainwater.

_"Is it not enough that I am uncomfortable with the thought of lying beside you?" Yes, Casavir,_ she thought bitterly, _it is enough. _She only hoped she could get away before she started crying. Neeshka was wrong. She knew exactly where she stood with Casavir, and he most certainly meant it.

"I won't ask again," she said sharply and spurred her horse forward to ride with...

Helm's hemorrhoids, there was no one left to ride with but Bishop, and the trail was only wide enough for two horses side by side.

"My lady, you mistake -" she never heard the rest of Casavir's protest. She just wanted to get away from him.


	26. Hollow Victory

_Disclaimer: All characters on loan from Obsidian, except Kayla, of course._

* * *

Casavir watched The Lady ride forward, away from him. She had spoken of their sleeping arrangements, he had answered that he did not trust himself to behave honorably toward her, and she fled his presence, as if he had insulted her.

_What did I say?_ Casavir thought, fighting down a moment of completely irrational panic. _Does she_ want _me to betray her trust?_

He sighed. He had tried to call her back, to explain why he dared not risk being so near her while he was not in his right mind, but she would not hear him. No, she rode with _him_ now, and Casavir would be damned if he'd get within a spear's throw of that maggot, if he could help it.

What was she playing at? The ranger was still the same villain who had made her cower in fear the night before, yet now she rode with him. Casavir had seen her laugh at one of his jests. Could she have forgotten so quickly? True, she did possess an unquenchable spirit, but he had treated her shamefully.

Perhaps their search of the mountains might take some time. Perhaps later, when he sat with her on her watch, he might have the opportunity to clarify his earlier statements.

In that, he was thwarted. The trail was straight and true, though the terrain was not. The githyanki followed the easiest path through the mountains toward a wide ravine, with a convenient cave mouth at one end. The trip had taken not three candles.

The Lady gestured to him. He rode eagerly toward her, but his enthusiasm was checked by the ranger's continued presence. Khelgar and the tiefling, too, were near, and Elanee and Grobnar. This was no private interview.

"They've gone into the hole," the ranger said. "It isn't even midday, so I say we press on."

"Elanee and Casavir have obligations around this time of day," The Lady reminded the ranger.

"Screw that," the irreverent bastard snorted. "You wanted your trail, here it is. Take it or leave it."

"Can you make your devotions a little early?" she asked them.

"Nature has its own cycles," Elanee said. "Sometimes even seasons are rushed or delayed a little. Silvanus will not mind a candle."

"Casavir?" The Lady asked. She did not meet his eyes.

"Better early than late," Casavir said tersely. "What of the horses?"

"Bane's blood," the ranger swore. "We can't leave them here. We passed a miner's shack, half a candle back. He had a mule. Pay him enough, and maybe he won't just sell them."

In the end, that was precisely what they did. For the modest sum of a hundred gold, the miner was prepared to look after their horses for up to a tenday. Casavir was astonished at his generosity. Why, for another hundred, he could have bought any of the horses outright, excluding Minnow. The chestnut stallion was a warhorse, not a saddle horse, and commanded a much higher price... not that Casavir would part with his old friend, in any case.

So, with their horses in the questionable hospitality of the miner, they were free to enter the cave... after he and Elanee had made their devotions at the proper time.

Inside, not surprisingly, they met githyanki. Scores of them. The first had some rather interesting things to say about the appellation The Lady bore. A _Kalach-Cha_ was one who broke a silver sword and stole its shards. Apparently, the word had been coined especially for her. All who met her made some new word to describe her, it seemed. Casavir, too, would have named her something wondrous, had he only the skill. The fire shrub and the bark-cutter wasp were not the only things he lacked the eloquence to name appropriately.

They met demons, too, which Casavir thought strange. What was odder still was that they all seemed to be in the employ of some anonymous warlock with glowing tattoos on his bald head, and the demons, too, were attacking the githyanki. They did not scruple to attack The Lady and her companions, though, as soon as the githyanki were neutralized.

That felt good. Casavir could not expect to feel anything but satisfaction at smiting the denizens of the lower planes, and he had not been disappointed. Succubi and erinyes... demons and devils brought together for a single purpose... it reeked of the vilest evil, but Casavir could not fathom the intent behind it.

Deeper in the catacombs, they met another devil, who was being taunted by three succubi. The succubi sought to tempt the devil, but they, too, attacked The Lady, once they became aware of her presence. The rescued devil was most grateful, and perhaps helpful...

"Well met," the devil said. "I am grateful to you for ridding me of those... nuisances."

"Careful..." Casavir overheard Neeshka whisper to The Lady, "there's something strange about this one. He's making my skin itch."

And the paladin thought he alone had that privilege.

"Ah..." the devil savored the word as if it were a wine, "it seems you have brought blood of the Lower Planes with you. Well met to you, tiefling."

"Don't talk to me like we're friends," the tiefling warned, "I can smell a trick, so don't try anything, or else you'll be seeing a lot more blood than you expected."

"I don't trust him any more than you do, Neeshka," The Lady said wisely, "but follow my lead on this one, all right?"

"Well, all right..." Neeshka shivered, "but never trust anyone who's polite as he is. He gives me the holies."

"Such prejudices are not uncommon even in the lower realms..." the devil shrugged. "I meant no offense."

He then continued, to The Lady, this time.

"Regardless of your intent," he said, "your actions have benefited me. I wish to help you in return, if you will allow it."

The devil proposed a trade... in exchange for his freedom, he would lower the barrier between himself and Shandra. He said that a demon waited further on, a hezrou demon named Zaxis, but he would give The Lady the means to combat him, if she required it.

Perhaps it troubled Casavir that she had accepted his offer so readily, but what choice did she have? The devil swore to leave the plane, and, as a devil, as opposed to a demon, he was bound to his word. As a token of goodwill, he gave The Lady an "Extradimensional Sphere" that would enable her to overcome obstacles rooted in another plane that manifested in the Prime. The Lady said the words.

"Mephasm, I command you banished from this plane," she said.

They were forced to fight this Zaxis that Mephasm mentioned. That, too, had been a satisfying victory. Unlike Mephasm, the hezrou demon said nothing at all that might be considered helpful. His presence had not made Neeshka uncomfortable, though.

That, in itself, gave him something to think about. Mephasm had given Neeshka "the holies," much as he himself did, but Zaxis had not. Perhaps the tiefling carried demonic blood, as opposed to diabolical. Did that make her less damned? And why was this question so important to him? That, at least, he could answer. The tiefling was The Lady's closest friend. The paladin did not want her surrounded by evil influence, whether rogue or ranger.

Zeeaire... Casavir shuddered at the memory of the female githyanki.

"How long did you think you could escape us?" the githyanki said. "You have stolen our shards, defiled them with your touch, and now you will die, _Kalach-Cha_!"

"You kidnapped Shandra against her will," The Lady answered boldly, "and you will answer for that crime."

"Trust me," Shandra groaned from a cage on the other side of the chamber, "once she gets on your trail, you're doomed."

Casavir thought the woman might have shown a little more gratitude, but perhaps she could be forgiven. Shandra had endured a terrible ordeal.

"Know that you are in no position to demand _anything_ from me," Zeeaire sneered. "You will answer for your crimes... along with this frail thing that carries the last of the Jerro blood."

"What do you want with Shandra?" The Lady asked, undeterred.

"Why, the same thing _you_ want from her," Zeeaire hissed. "She is the last known descendent of one who stole a silver sword from us."

"How do you expect Shandra to lead you to the silver sword?" The Lady echoed Casavir's thoughts.

"Within her thoughts, somewhere is the knowledge I seek," Zeeaire went on, more calmly. "I will leave no memory unturned, no shred of self untouched... and when I have what I need, I shall execute her."

"Enough talking," The Lady said. "Let's end this."

"Enough of this," Zeeaire snapped. "Know that I will hear your pleas... and allow you this one last chance to atone for your crime."

"If you want them, come and claim them." The Lady's voice was cold.

Casavir watched, horrified, as The Lady was lifted from the ground. All three silver shards in her possession floated in front of her.

"Did you really think you could keep such relics of my people?" Zeeaire spat. "They do not belong to you. Odd, I have all the ones you carry... yet it seems you still possess one."

The Lady writhed in agony. Casavir went to her, but her pain was nothing he could ease. He could not even touch her. She was bathed in the githyanki's power, and it prevented him from reaching her. She clutched at her chest, and the paladin felt a pang in his own. He could not bear to see her pain.

"You have a piece of the Sword inside of you!" Zeeaire's eyes widened, but her voice was cold. "And I shall remove it from you - by force."

At her signal, The Lady fell to the ground, but Casavir still could not tend her. Zeeaire's guards attacked. The paladin fought them, striving to give her enough time to get back on her feet.

But The Lady did not lead them because she was a fool. She proved far more resourceful than even Casavir had thought. She lifted a globe in her hands, the Extradimensional Sphere, and touched it to the portal that kept Zeeaire's presence vital on the Prime Material Plane.

There was no blinding flash of light, or other spectacle to show what she had done. It was simply that one moment, the portal was there and the next it was not. With the link to the Astral Plane broken, Zeeaire's guards fell dead instantly. Zeeaire herself was stronger, but she fell to her knees.

"You... think this is over?" she gasped. "You are wrong, _Kalach-Cha_, and I hope the pain you have brought here is revisited upon you a thousandfold. The Lich Queen will know of my fall... yes... but it will be too late. What comes for you will be revenge enough."

"And what comes for me?" The Lady said, rising.

"We were never the ones you had to fear," Zeeaire coughed. "In defying us, you have harmed your own people - and everything on your plane. The githyanki will strike at you no longer - this was the last of our strongholds devoted to the recovery of the shards... there will be no more attacks from my people, because it will serve no purpose... you have sealed your fate. Evil wakes, _Kalach-Cha_, and in killing me, you now stand alone against what comes."

"What comes?" The Lady demanded again.

"The King of Shadows... will annihilate your race... and all Faerûn. I... will see you in death... Kalach-Cha... I do not think I... will have to wait long."

Zeeaire was dead.

The Lady ran to Shandra while Bishop plundered the bodies and Neeshka ransacked the chests scattered about the room. Casavir paid them no heed. He went to Shandra. She seemed unharmed.

"I'm getting so tired of this," Shandra said wearily. "You have to let me save you sometime, or else I'll never be able to pay you back."

"Oh, there'll be plenty of time for you to pay _all_ of us on the way back to Neverwinter," Bishop looked up from his looting.

"You all _put_ me in danger!" Shandra retorted. "I'm not paying you a single coin."

"Well then you'll be paying me another way," Bishop leered. The ranger would never learn. "My bedroll's a little cold at night - I'm thinking you can fix that."

"Maybe you'd best shut your mouth, ranger," Khelgar growled. "Your words are starting to anger me."

"Oh, really, what a surprise," the ranger sneered. "How'd you like it if I left you here in Luskan territory with your righteousness to keep you company?"

"You will not speak to Shandra like that, Bishop," The Lady said firmly.

"Jealousy's thick in this little band, I see," Bishop leered. "Who knew you'd want me all to yourself? Don't worry, I haven't forgotten _your_ pretty face, fair leader... or your skill with your hands."

"I won't have you speaking to her or anyone else that way, Bishop," Casavir warned.

"What are you going to do to stop me?" the ranger laughed. "Bore me to death? Come on, Princess, let's get the hells out of here."

The Lady's coldness toward Casavir did not abate on the ride back to Neverwinter. He barely spoke to his leader, anymore. He rode alone, and no longer challenged Bishop every time the ranger spoke to his leader.

If The Lady noticed his recent inattention, she made no mention of it. Indeed, she seemed to have other things to occupy her mind. Before that terrible morning, she joined him on his watches every day, after her devotions, but now... In the six days it took to return to Neverwinter, she had sat with him precisely once during his watch, for only a few moments, and spoken to him not at all. He still went to her every night on her watch, but she never asked him to sit beside her, nor did she speak of anything besides their plans for the coming day. That, too, was more formulaic than informative. The answer was always "We ride to Neverwinter." Silence would follow.

He was not certain that he welcomed the change in their relationship. She had respected his reserve, but she had always been open and unguarded herself. Now... it was as if they were strangers. What was worse, it was as if she welcomed the change. He had intended to speak with her, to explain himself, but it no longer seemed necessary. Indeed, the one time he had attempted it, he got only as far as "My lady, the other morning..." before she silenced him with "Never speak of it again."

She was more friendly toward the ranger, and that irked him. Since The Lady was so rarely in his company, these days, the ranger had taken advantage of his absence to insinuate himself into his leader's daily life. Could she really have forgiven him so quickly? She certainly showed every sign of appreciating his attention, though Casavir was pleased to note that she did not seek him out. It was more that she did not send Bishp away when he sought her.

The last night before they would reach Neverwinter, Casavir went to her. She sat at the entrance to her lean-to, braiding leather around the grip of her mace.

"I thought we might take a moment to discuss your plans, once we are in the city," he said.

"We'll stay at the Flagon," she said. "I will have my Watch duties."

He had nothing to say, but he stood there still, looking at the blanket beside her. A tenday before, she would not have cared that they had nothing specific to talk about. She would have asked him to sit, and they would have looked at the stars. Now, he looked at her, and she looked past his knees into the night, as if he had already left.

"My lady?" he asked.

"Hadn't you better turn in?" she asked. "It will be a long day tomorrow, with ten leagues to go, and you will want your rest."

"I might speak with you a while, if you wished it," he said. Why did his throat feel so tight? He could not be ill.

"I don't want to disturb you," she said. "Goodnight, Casavir."

He heard the dismissal in her voice. He sighed and went back to his own lean-to. He rolled himself in his blankets, but could not sleep. His chest felt strange, heavy, almost, and his sense of isolation deepened. He looked toward The Lady's lean-to. It was just across the fire from his.

A human strode up to her. He did not need to see his face to know it was Bishop. After all, there was only one other human male. He could not know what they said, but they spoke for a moment or two, she gestured, and he sat on her bedroll.

His eyes burned. It must be fatigue... He watched them speak. He almost rose when he said something that made her flinch, and back away from him quickly enough to alarm the paladin, but then the ranger laughed, and she relaxed. Bishop got up and went back to his own bedroll not long after. No one trusted him on watch.

Casavir still could not sleep. They had won Shandra's freedom, but he took precious little joy in the victory. Where once he had enjoyed four candles of companionship every day, he now had four candles of solitary reflection. For a man like him, who thought too much as it was, four candles stretched long indeed.

He found a word for the feeling that troubled him: loss. He had his honor, and The Lady kept hers, but the cost to the paladin was staggering.

_Was this not what you wanted?_ He asked himself that question time and again during his last watch before they reached Neverwinter. _You wanted to be free from temptation. You are free. You did not want The Lady to see the beast that is your lust. She has not seen it. You wanted serenity and calm. Your prayers have been answered. Whom now will you blame, if your prize is less satisfactory than you hoped it would be? Cast no more pleas to the gods, paladin, you have had your three wishes._

That night a month ago, he swore that he would be cold to her if it would keep him true to his duty. He had done his part, and The Lady had turned away from him, and showed every sign of befriending a man who had violated her. He had failed her. Again.

Still, perhaps all was not lost. They would be in Neverwinter soon, and he would have the opportunity to make amends for whatever wrong he had done her. He might not be able to be her security blanket, the rag a child clutches to drive away the terrors of the night, but he might still demonstrate his devotion to her through service. He would find a way. The Lady needed him to keep Bishop at bay. That would be harder to accomplish, since she would not speak to him, but in that, at least, Khelgar would help, and perhaps Elanee and the tiefling, as well.

He sighed. The Lady ordered that camp should be struck. His last watch was over, and she had not come to him. They would reach Neverwinter by nightfall.

* * *

These days, Kayla usually returned to her bedroll after completing her devotions. With Shandra rescued, there was no longer any need to set out so early in the morning, so she allowed her companions extra rest. Often, they would not be underway until late morning. They might have been on a pleasure trip, if there was anything pleasurable about it.

Shandra had long since lost the ability to annoy Kayla to any greater degree. She rode beside her every single day, and followed her around whenever they made camp. Kayla understood that the woman had been through a lot, and under other circumstances, Kayla would have been far more patient, but right now, she did not want a shadow. Casavir was bad enough.

He did not want her. He had made that abundantly clear. Still, for all his self-righteous propriety, she wanted _him_. She could not look at him without undressing him nor hear him speak to her without wishing that he whispered endearments. It was nothing as noble as love. She was certain of that. Right now, she did not even like him. No, it was a far less lofty emotion than that, and she was ashamed of herself for allowing it to have rooted itself so firmly in her imagination.

No, there was nothing she could do to help herself but ignore him until she had overcome her infatuation with him.

He was not helping her, there. She longed to forget her feelings for him, juvenile as she knew they were, and he would not leave her alone. Every gods damned night, he came to taunt her some more, and remind her of what she would never have.

For the first two days, she had consoled herself that Casavir had rejected her because he wanted Shandra, but he had barely spoken with the farmer since her rescue. His eyes did not follow her, nor did he treat her as anything but a stranger, albeit one who deserved his help. No, he had not spurned Kayla because he desired someone else. It would have been easier for Kayla to accept his rejection if he had.

She had even taken to allowing Bishop to talk to her, since the ranger's presence discouraged the paladin's. At first, she feared that she was making a huge mistake by encouraging him, but after a while, she began to relax. Now that Bishop could no longer force her to do things she did not want to do, she no longer feared him. He had a cruel wit, but he made her laugh.

She needed every shred of mirth she could find as Neverwinter neared. With Shandra rescued and no new leads on Ammon Jerro's Haven, she feared that the unbroken, boring routine of city life would tear her company apart. One more thing to worry about.

She had her Watch duties, and they always occupied much of her time when she was in Neverwinter. She would see about making a monk out of Khelgar, and that would keep him out of trouble, or he would share her Watch assignments, as he had done before. Grobnar and Qara worked for Duncan, so she need not worry about them. Neeshka often accompanied her on Watch missions, when she was not out breaking the law herself. Somehow, the tiefling was blind to the irony of that. No, it was Elanee and Casavir that troubled her. Maybe Elanee could start making potions and selling them at Sand's shop. She would enjoy it, and the extra income could only help. What was the paladin to do? Since he had joined them, they had not been idle for more than a day or two at a time, and those were spent mostly in some well-earned rest, or in resupplying the party. Now, they might face months of inactivity. He might wish to help her on the Watch, as well, but she did not want his company.

How long did it take to forget desire? She was about to find out. They were at the gate.


	27. Kiss and Make Up

_Disclaimer: Obsidian still owns everybody but Kayla. The Sunken Flagon dialogue, too, is on loan, or most of it._

* * *

Duncan greeted them enthusiastically, kissing both The Lady and Shandra.

"Hey, welcome back!" He beamed. "Glad to see you've all returned... and in one piece, no less!"

"Good to see you, as well!" The Lady kissed her uncle back.

"All right," the half-elf smiled, "out with it - what happened? Tell me the tales, the songs, the whole bit!"

And with that, The Lady, assisted by Grobnar and Shandra, told him all about their journey... apart from the discovery that she carried another shard in her chest. Casavir cursed his own preoccupation. He had not even remarked on it, and he had six days to do it. Surely, he might have emerged from his own self-pity long enough to comment on the relic of what must have been a cataclysmic event that his leader had borne in her body for most of her nineteen years. But no, he had been too busy thinking about his own discomfort, as usual. Perhaps he would have the opportunity to talk to her about it soon. Right now, she appeared to want some family time with her uncle.

Bishop, it seemed, had other plans.

"By the way," the ranger drawled, "I've decided it would be in both our interests if I stay on with you."

"I'm not paying you, if that's what you're after," The Lady replied, showing her customary good sense.

"I'm hurt, you would value our friendship so lightly," the ranger scoffed. "I don't need more money, traveling with you is the most fun I've had in years. It sure as hells beats leading nobs around saying 'This is a deer. Put the arrow here.'"

"We don't need any more of your help," Casavir found himself retorting.

"Ah," the ranger sneered, "why don't you let our leader speak for herself, 'paladin,' without you speaking for her, eh?"

"No, no," Duncan insisted, though Casavir thought he looked pale. "There's no need, Bishop. I'm sorry for before, but you've done more than..."

"Oh, come now, Duncan," Bishop purred, "I still _owe_ you. And what better way to make it up to you than watching your kin here?"

The ranger paused for a moment. Casavir could not describe the look the ranger and the half-elf exchanged, but it was certainly dangerous.

"After all," Bishop said at last, "a debt is a debt... all the way until the end. Isn't that right?"

The two men stared at each other, neither speaking, for several moments. Finally, Shandra spoke.

"I hate to ask... " she said hesitantly, "but what happens now? I can't go back to my farm, ashes and all."

"What do you want to do, Shandra?" The Lady asked compassionately.

"I... I don't know." Shandra held back the tears that glistened at the corners of her eyes. "What choice have I got?"

"You have several," The Lady said. "You can take your share of the treasure and rebuild your farm. You'll have enough gold to speed the repairs. Or... you can travel with us. If neither of those suits you, I am sure that Uncle Duncan would not mind putting you up until you have made up your mind."

"You'd let me?" Shandra asked incredulously. "Travel with you, I mean?"

"If you want to, yes," The Lady's hesitation was barely perceptible.

"Why? Because we need someone who's easy on the eyes?" Bishop asked smugly. "That's what _I'm _here for, I believe."

"If Shandra agrees to travel with us," Casavir, too had his doubts about the advisability of that, "the danger might be greater than within Neverwinter's walls, but that is not certain."

"After all that has happened," The Lady said, "I feel like we should do what we can to protect her."

"Oh," Shandra looked overwhelmed. Casavir sighed. That was never a good sign, in a recruit as green as Shandra. "Well, I mean, you don't have to go that far, but... uh... thanks."

"Very well," Casavir agreed reluctantly, as if his opinion even mattered, "she will travel with us."

"You've just agreed to die before your time, farm girl," Bishop snorted. "So be it."

"If she's going to be with us, she'll need to do some catching up," Khelgar rumbled, "we can't just keep on rescuing her all the time."

"Rescuing me?" Shandra snorted. "I can rescue myself! Sometimes... when there's not too many lizardfolk... or githyanki."

"Khelgar has a point," The Lady said. "We'll need to train you so you can defend yourself."

"Well..." Shandra said, "I know enough to use a sword and can handle myself in a fight. I mean, I'm no spellcaster, but if you need an extra blade..."

Shandra drew a deep breath, as if preparing to say something difficult.

"I admit - you've rescued me twice now - and if you're going to help teach me to survive these attacks, I accept. But there's some things you're going to have to accept, too. I don't like being left behind. Because whenever you're out of my sight, suddenly all this trouble starts happening, and I'm _really_ tired of it. So... look, I won't try to get in your way or anything, but I don't want us to part ways again - I've... I've, well, lost too much already. You're not leaving me behind. All right?"

"I didn't mean for anything to happen to you or your home," The Lady said. "If I can make it up to you, I will."

"Then that's all I ask," Shandra replied, clearly satisfied.

"So the farm girl's going to join our band?" Bishop condescended. "Good. We need someone to make up for the paladin - or at least to catch arrows if Grobnar's already dead."

What in the hells was Bishop talking about? Casavir would not abandon The Lady over a few cross words and some hurt feelings! Ah, who in the nine hells cared what passed through that evil, lust-soaked brain as substitution for thought?

"If you're going to travel with us, Shandra," The Lady said, "you're going to need some training. Khelgar, can you help her?"

"Sorry, lass," Khelgar said. "I can't teach her because I never really learned. For me, fighting comes from the gut, and Shandra just doesn't have enough gut to work with, if you catch my drift."

The Lady rolled her eyes.

"How about you, Casavir?" she asked him. "Do you think you can teach someone to fight, or is all instinct for you, too?"

"I can do it, my lady," Casavir said. He had benefited from the finest weapon masters in Neverwinter. Surely he could pass along some of that knowledge.

"Good," The Lady said. "Starting tomorrow, Shandra's training is your sole responsibility, outside whatever religious obligations you have. Neeshka and I are going to sell off whatever we aren't keeping tomorrow afternoon, so you'll be able to buy her whatever gear she needs the next day. You can make your progress reports to Khelgar, every day, at first, but if we're here for more than a tenday, you can back it off to every third."

"As you wish, my lady." Casavir sighed. Hearing her address him as if he were one of his former mercenaries was unsettling. She used his "Katriona voice," and the comparison was not favorable.

"The day after tomorrow is Greengrass, Kayla," Neeshka prompted. "How do you want to celebrate?"

"I'll have Sal fix up something special," Duncan said happily, then scratched his chin when everyone turned to stare at him. "Or maybe we'll just have bread and cheese. But I got in a cask of apple wine. I was going to save it for Greengrass, but what do you say we open it now and toast your safe return?"

The Lady laughed.

"Let's save it, Uncle Duncan," she said, still giggling. "Let me at least settle in a bit before you muddle my wits."

"Screw that!" Bishop laughed. "I say we crack open a few casks and drown the Flagon in wine!"

No one seemed to notice when Casavir stole off to his room.

* * *

It was easy to forget the hardships of the road, back at the Sunken Flagon, Kayla reflected. She'd choked down some stew and she was now trying to see how much she could drink before the giggle fits set in. The answer to that question was four beakers of wine.

Shandra was going to work out fine, after all. Now that Shandra's place with the party was secure, the former farmer relaxed, and she was currently arm-wrestling Duncan, and winning as often as she lost. She seemed to get along best with Khelgar and Grobnar, but that was only natural. Elanee did not get along with many people until they had been in her company some time and she suspected that Bishop would not really like anyone who did not offer him a pair of open thighs.

Things were definitely looking up. Bishop was amusing her with far-fetched tales of his exploits with the rich nobles who hired him as a hunting guide. He reminded her of Georg Redfell, in a way, with his unbelievable but entertaining stories. She hadn't thought of the paladin in hours... which, of course, made her think of the paladin.

She looked around, but did not see him.

"Where has Casavir gone, Khelgar?" she called to the dwarf.

"Dunno," the dwarf said, pulling himself another ale. "He went off before dinner."

"He went off years ago, if you ask me," Bishop laughed, and Kayla laughed, too. Khelgar scowled at the pair of them. He seized Kayla's elbow and dragged her roughly aside.

"You've got no right, laughing at Cas' expense," the dwarf snapped. "That man bled for you, damn it, and you've been nothing but a bitch to him these last few days. He's not the kind to complain, but you owe him, Lala."

Kayla's happy buzz evaporated, leaving a dizzy, slightly queasy headache in its place. She did owe him. Much as she resented leaving the festivities of the common room, she should at least check in on the paladin to make sure he was settled comfortably. After that, she could always come back to the party.

* * *

Casavir sat soaking in his bath. He had already washed, but the warm water soothed his tired, aching body and lulled him toward sleep. He had slept poorly, these last few days, and the luxury of sleeping in a bed would be most welcome.

He startled at the knock on his door, then relaxed. It was probably the porters, come to retrieve the tub. He did not know how many bathing coppers the Sunken Flagon possessed, but with six travelers recently returned, including himself, someone else might want a turn.

He sighed and got out of a tub. The porters would not care how he was dressed, so he simply pulled a clean shirt out of his clothing chest and yanked it over his head. He reached for a pair of leggings, but the porter knocked a second time, louder. He abandoned the leggings and turned the key in the lock.

He stared. It was no porter come to collect Casavir's bath. It was The Lady, and he was standing in the door wearing nothing but a thin bleached linen shirt.

"May I come in?" The Lady asked.

Casavir swallowed. He longed to refuse, but he could not. She was his leader, and might go where she chose. He nodded, and stepped aside to allow her to enter the room.

She looked at the chair. He panicked. He should ask her to sit, but that would require that he sit, himself, and the shirt was nowhere near long enough to cover him if he did that. It was barely long enough, as it was. At least, he hoped he was covered. He looked down. He was, but that hardly mattered. He was still wet from his bath when he put the shirt on, and the thirsty linen had absorbed the water. It clung to him, and his dark pubic hair was clearly visible through the cloth... and worse. He stood in the middle of the floor. Duncan had given him a larger room, this time, so any convenient thing he might use to cover himself was well out of reach. The paladin cursed the innkeeper's generosity.

_By all that is holy, my lady, do not look down, I beg you..._

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"Yes," he said tersely. "Did you require something?"

"I wanted to apologize," she said. "I appreciate everything you do... for the group."

"Thank you, my lady," he said, though his voice still sounded strangled, in his own ears. _Why had I not dressed myself before opening that door? She could have knocked one more time..._

Things were only getting worse. His awareness of his own undress in the presence of The Lady awoke something mutinous in his nethers. He felt himself stir. The more he tried to suppress his body's insurrection, the stiffer he got. He did not dare look down again. He already knew what it must look like.

"Please, my lady," he said, though he tried to keep the desperation out of his voice, "I am weary. Was there anything else you wished to say?"

"No..." she said, though she sounded rather forlorn. She extended her arms to him, then.

Casavir stared. An hour ago, he would have opened a vein for her embrace. Now that she offered it, he dared not accept. His manhood, however, reacted to the gesture with renewed vigor. He clasped his hands in front of himself and prayed it would be enough.

She saw his reluctance. She frowned, turned, and fled. The door slammed behind her.

Casavir hastily pulled on his leggings, seized the nearest thing he might hold in front of himself to conceal his condition, and and ran barefoot after her.

* * *

Kayla fought down her tears as she ran from Casavir's room. She might have treated him badly, but he had never been so cold. Still, she should have expected that of him. She knew he was heartless.

She went back to the taproom. Another cup of wine, and she could forget about the whole thing. She sat down by Khelgar and Neeshka and casually stole the tiefling's glass.

She blinked. Casavir was standing in front of her, wearing nothing but a shirt and leggings... and carrying a helmet.

"Forgive me, my lady," he panted. "I apologize for receiving you improperly, just now, but you startled me. I expected the porters, or I should have dressed more... completely."

Kayla's mouth dropped in surprise, but then she laughed. There had been a tub in his room, she recalled. He had been rude to her because she'd caught him bathing. She wished she'd seen more. She cursed herself for allowing that thought, when she was trying to forget her desire for him, but his embarrassment was comical enough to ease her conscience about that. She forgave him.

"Oh, Cas!" she chuckled. "You should know better than to worry about things like that. We all walk in on each other once in a while, remember?"

His eyes opened wide in surprise. He blushed crimson, but he smiled.

"Thank you, my lady," Casavir said shyly. He took her hand and kissed it.

"Go on, Cas," Kayla said, "get the rest of your clothes on and join us."

Kayla was still giggling as he trotted back toward the stair.

"Did you see him in the tub?" Neeshka prodded, taking her glass back.

"No, damn my luck," Kayla shook her head, "but I did see him in a wet shirt. Too bad I wasn't looking."

Neeshka rolled her eyes.

Kayla's wine arrived. She took a sip and thought about the conversation she just had.

"Why did he bring a helmet?" she asked, to no one in particular.

Khelgar guffawed.

"That would be because the lad had a mite too much starch in his shirt," the dwarf said sagely.

"What?" Kayla asked, baffled. "Why would anybody starch a shirt?"

"You know," the dwarf reddened. "He shored up the mine with only one timber... drank too much spring tonic... put up his maypole a little early... Damn it woman... do you have any idea what I'm talking about?"

"No," Kayla said, perplexed. Maybe it was the wine making her dense, but Khelgar was not making sense.

"You tell her, Neesh," he grumbled to the giggling tiefling.

"Cas was very happy to see you," Neeshka chuckled, "so much that he... er... had a bit of a temporary growth spurt, just below his belt."

Kayla choked. Even as she coughed, her mind raced. Casavir's behavior just then suddenly made a lot more sense. He had not been embarrassed by his nudity, but by his arousal. Had she interrupted something more private than a bath? No, she had taken in his attire when he opened the door. If he had been... indisposed... when he opened the door, she would surely have noticed. That shirt hid nothing. If he was roused now, he must have gotten that way between the time he answered her knock and the time he entered the common room... while she was with him.

Something happy and hopeful woke in her heart. It was probable that any woman might have kindled his desire, but it had not been any woman. It had been her.

She awaited his return eagerly.

Casavir seated himself beside her when he returned, and waved to Sal for an ale. She reached a timid hand toward the hand he had placed on the table and took it in hers. He said nothing, but he did not take his hand back. Instead, he watched as she traced the lines on his palm with one fingertip. He shuddered, then closed his hand gently around hers.

"Please, my lady," he breathed, "do not tempt me."

"Are you... ?" she asked softly.

"Yes," he groaned. He closed his eyes, for a moment, and started to withdraw his hand, but she held it. The wine had made her bold, it seemed.

"I'll be good," she whispered, "but please hold my hand just a little longer."

He sighed, but he did not resist her touch. His hand was much, much larger than hers, so it enclosed hers. It felt good, comforting, somehow.

"Don't mind us," Neeshka giggled. Kayla snapped back to reality. She had completely forgotten that Khelgar and Neeshka still shared their table. The dwarf was politely ignoring them, but the tiefling watched them avidly.

She sighed and took her hand back. Casavir looked at her anxiously, but he relaxed when she smiled at him.

"Shall we play a game?" Kayla asked.

"How about spin the bottle?" Neeshka suggested wickedly. "You go first."

"You're a nuisance, Neesh!" Khelgar harumphed. "There aren't enough of us for Memory -"

"I don't think we should play any drinking games tonight," Kayla interrupted. She had probably had too much, as it was.

"Arm wrestling?" Khelgar suggested hopefully. "Cas and I against you and Neesh? Winners go against each other?"

"Oh, that would end well," Kayla rolled her eyes.

"Thumb wrestling!" Neeshka suggested. "You don't need biceps for that."

"Would that be all right with you, Cas?" Kayla asked him. The paladin nodded. He was on his second tankard, and looked mellow.

It was fun. She went against Casavir first, and he beat her, then she went against Neeshka, and the tiefling beat her too. She watched Neeshka go against Casavir and giggled the whole time. They both flinched horribly over their clasped hands and turned seven shades of red, but in the end, Neeshka won, but she lost to Khelgar. They repeated that game happily for the rest of the evening, and spoke of pleasant things.

At the end of the night, she was decidedly tipsy. Once more, Casavir offered to escort her to her room. She accepted, since she did feel a bit unsteady... or perhaps a lot.

Just like last time he had done this service for her, she fumbled with the key, and he took it from her. After he turned the key in the lock, he handed it back to her. His hand touched hers. The key fell to the floor as he folded her hand in his. His other hand touched her chin, lifting it.

He did not kiss her, but he did look long at her face, with soft, tender eyes. He clasped her to his chest in a tight embrace, and she felt him respond to the intimacy of it. His chest heaved with each ragged breath. At last, he pulled away from her, though he stood near her, still.

"Forgive me, my lady," he moaned. "I should not be so forward. My vows..."

"We needed it, Casavir," she heard herself say. "The last tenday has been hard on both of us... I'm sorry, Cas. I didn't understand."

He sighed.

"No, my lady," he said softly, "the fault is mine. I should have told you of my fears."

She hesitated. She was on the verge of inviting him into her room, and she was not certain that he would have refused, but the timing felt wrong. If she was going to lie with him, she did not want to do it with a head swimming in wine.

He bent and retrieved her key. When he looked at her, his face was grave, but she saw no reproach.

"I must bid you good night, my lady," he said sadly.

"I understand," she said softly, and to her own surprise, she meant it. The tenderness they had shared was enough.

Stretching up on her toes, she kissed him, but chastely.

"Good night, Casavir," she said warmly. "Sleep well."

"Thank you, my lady," he smiled, "and you."

He opened the door for her and stood aside while she entered the room. Once more, the paladin took her hand and raised it to his lips. He kissed it, then released her hand and closed the door gently behind him.

Kayla almost danced as she dressed for bed. He desired her. He held her hand. He had embraced her of his own free will, and had enjoyed it as much as she. And when it was over, he had not retreated from her, nor had he expressed remorse at what he had done, for its own sake. He might have experienced a pang of conscience that the intimacy threatened his vows, but that was a very real concern, for him, and she could forgive him for it. In fact, she might even be glad that it did mean so much to him. Had it been less significant, or less pleasurable, his first thought would not have been that he regretted the impossibility of going further.

She hugged herself and went to sleep, dreaming of happy things.

* * *

Casavir went back to his room a contented man. She was speaking to him again... and more. She respected his obligations and had not asked him to go further than he was willing to go. He wanted more, of course, but he could not lie with her just to satisfy his lust.

He still ached for her, but he sought neither to suppress his yearning nor relieve it. He longed for a woman he could not have, but even that was a blessing. He had been celibate most of his life, so he was not troubled by his own frustrated desire now. It would pass. The important thing was that he was free once more to enjoy her company. She had called him Cas. The rift between them was healed.

Now, if only he could make his bed smell like her hair...

The next morning, he went first to Sand's shop to inquire about replacing the perfume he had broken.

"No, I don't have it on hand," the elf replied, as if Casavir had said something offensive. "I make such things to order, you know, but I can make it up for you while you wait. Kayla, you say?"

"Yes," Casavir said. "I would like two bottles, please. May I have them in metal vials, though, with closures that will not leak?"

"Two?" Sand asked. "I could just make a larger quanitity."

"No, it must be two separate ones," he said. "The other is for... someone else."

"My, my! You paladins lead more exciting lives than I would have imagined," Sand said. "But I will only sell you one flask. Each of my blends is unique to the wearer. If you wish to buy fragrance for someone else, it would be better if you brought her in so I could make it to suit her."

Casavir sighed.

"No," he said. "It must be the same."

He fell silent, and looked around the shop for a while. Her birthday was coming up, though it was still months away. Midsummer, she said, was it not? It was some holiday. It must be Midsummer. What better day for someone so full of light and beauty, whose voice was music and whose soul, warmth? He must buy her a gift.

Still, he had a long-overdue account with the farrier, and his tithes had been light for several quarters... and he still owed the herbalist at the temple of Ilmater almost two hundred gold for the medicines she had sent when his men at Old Owl Well had contracted dragon pox and sickened faster than he could cure them.

Still, he would buy her something, if he could, or at least choose something to buy later. He never would have thought buying a gift would be so difficult, but he had the unfortunate lack of both experience and creativity when it came to buying things for women... and he had very little money.

"Sand?" Casavir asked, after a brief and very confusing search. He decided to put the purchase of the gift off until later, when he had collected his share of the treasure and settled his debts, but he had an idea about how he might obtain that second bottle of perfume. "I would like one bottle of the scent, please, in one of those unbreakable vials, and another empty vial. It might be useful to have a spare... for something else, like potion or ink."

The elf looked at him through narrowed eyes, as if he had guessed what the paladin intended, but he sold him the empty vial.

Once back in his room, he filled the smaller vial and set it aside. That, he would give to The Lady to replace the one he had broken. The other vial was nearly empty, but it held enough for his purposes.

He shook a few drops of the fragrance onto his linens, stripped off his outer garments, and got back in bed to see if it worked. The warmth of his body was just enough to release the scent. He closed his eyes and drifted in a drowsy blend of pleasant memories until sleep reclaimed him.

He startled awake at the knock on his door. He must have forgotten to lock it. The door opened, and Shandra walked in.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Cas," she said. "I didn't think you'd still be asleep. It's nearly noon."

"Forgive me, Shandra," he said. "I will meet you in the courtyard in a candle."

"Ah," she nodded. "Your room smells nice, by the way."

"Thank you," he said steadily. "Excuse me, please."

He looked pointedly at the door. He might not refuse admittance to The Lady while wearing only shirt and smalls, but he would not allow Shandra to see him like that.

"Ah, right," Shandra said, catching on. "See you outside in a candle."

The woman closed the door behind her. Casavir would just have time to make his devotions and arm himself. Breakfast must wait, which was a pity, because Sal's breakfasts were much better than his dinners. Still, he knew his duty. He would make Shandra into a fighter worthy of The Lady's trust.


	28. Getting Settled

_Disclaimer: Obsidian owns everybody but Kayla, Jenna, and a pair of guards._

* * *

Kayla might have worried that routine might blunt the edge of her her little band, but that, at least, was a concern that might yet be delayed a while. There was much to do, those first few days back from an extended journey. In this case, she hand been gone over a month, apart from those two days they spent recovering from Old Owl Well.

The first day was lost to errands. She and Neeshka sold off the treasure they had won from the githyanki. Shandra would keep the Gauntlets of Ogre Power and the armor, but most of the rest, they would sell. Still, the profits were less than she hoped, and their expenses, greater.

She had originally planned to care for the horses herself, but that proved impractical. Elanee was the only one besides Casavir who really enjoyed caring for the horses, and they both embraced their new occupations with enthusiasm. Nobody minded feeding them, and most of her companions had no objection to grooming them, but mucking out the stalls was a task that only a druid or a paladin could approach with any kind of zeal. Elanee could not very well leave a half-finished potion unattended while she shoveled out the stables, and Casavir had his hands full with Shandra. Plus, all ten of the horses needed daily exercise, and their schedules might not always allow it. No, caring for ten horses was a full day's work, and Kayla could not spare anyone to do it. Duncan had offered to allow Qara to work off her debt that way, but Qara refused. Apparently, she, too, would rather not spend her day up to her ankles in dung. So Kayla hired a groom for the Sunken Flagon. One of Duncan's porters recommended a brother for the job, and the man was eager to do it for the promised wage of four hundred gold a quarter, so the man was hired. She might have been paying him more than the customary rate, but since he was Kayla's employee rather than Duncan's, he would have to pay for his own food and accommodations, and he did have a family to support. In all, Kayla worried that she was paying him enough. He was pleased with the offer, though, so she must be content.

Qara insisted on a share of the treasure, as well. It was not her fault that she had remained behind, and what was she supposed to live on? Never mind that Duncan fed her and housed her, and that she had absolutely no other expenses, or that she had been offered the chance to go herself and refused it. It was totally unfair that she should have no extra spending money, when everyone else was rolling in gold, at least according to Qara.

Kayla objected to her greed. Khelgar had his head nearly torn off by Zaxis for his share, and Grobnar had been singed to within a thumb's breadth of his life for his, but Qara did not care. Shandra had refused a full share, so Kayla reluctantly allowed Shandra to split her gold with Qara.

At the end of the day, Kayla gave each of her companions five hundred gold, except for Shandra and Qara, who got two hundred and fifty apiece. Kayla gave Duncan most of her own share. He did not want to take it, but she persuaded him, in the end. The battle of the nightgowns had done some damage to the Flagon, and she had no idea how long Duncan might have to put them up, this time.

After settling accounts, she had just enough time to check in with Captain Brelaina. Neeshka elected not to accompany her, this trip, and she could not find Khelgar, so she went alone.

The Watch captain welcomed her back and gave her her new assignments. The Watch station in the Docks would be rebuilt, and she was to supervise its reconstruction, in addition to assuming the oversight of the six Watch posts in the district. She might receive further briefing from Marshal Cormick. She should report to him immediately, before he left for the day.

That news pleased her. She had not seen her friend at all, her last trip to Neverwinter, and besides being easy company, the Harborman reminded her of home... or at least the things she liked about home.

Cormick's second in command greeted her in Cormick's office.

"No, Cormick's out right now," the woman said. "You might want to try the Mask."

"The Mask?" Kayla asked. Despite her four months in Neverwinter, she still did not know her way around the city beyond the Docks, unless she had Neeshka or Casavir as a guide.

"The Moonstone Mask... you must have heard of it..." the sergeant looked surprised.

"No," Kayla said self-consciously, "But then, I know the Docks better than the Merchant District. If you would be kind enough to direct me there, perhaps I can meet him before he leaves."

"I'm sure that Cormick would be delighted to brief you there," the sergeant replied. The woman's tone was neutral, but her face showed her struggle to keep it that way.

"Is it a tavern?" Kayla rolled her eyes. The Watch kept odd hours, and a man had to eat somewhere. The sergeant deserved a reprimand if she thought it proper for her superior officer to go hungry just because he dared not take a meal in a tavern.

"They probably do sell drink there," the woman said, "among other things. I would not know myself, as I have never patronized it, or any more legitimate tavern, if they might be called such. An officer of the Watch should lead by example. I would not set foot in such a place."

"Perhaps you should," Kayla snapped. She did not like the woman's tone. It suggested insubordination, or at least amusement at her commanding officer's expense.

The sergeant reddened. She scowled, as if she wanted to say something rude and decided against it.

"Turn left as you exit the Watch," the woman said crisply, "then continue along the circle until you are about two thirds of the way to the Dolphin Bridge. It's on the right. You can't miss it. Good day."

Kayla rolled her eyes again. Cormick, it seemed, had a lot of patience.

From the outside, the Moonstone Mask did look to be a tavern. It had its signboard on the street, anyway, and men were walking in and out, although Kayla saw no women. If it was a public house, though, it was certainly a good one. The building was immaculate and recently painted. Workers on ladders were cleaning the high stained-glass windows of the ground floor. The upper stories had more normal shuttered windows, but all the shutters were closed. That struck her as odd. Most people would take advantage of the late afternoon sunlight. She shrugged and went in.

In most taverns, walking through the front door would put the guest in the taproom, but Kayla entered a kind of antechamber. The floor was tiled, and the walls, paneled in dark wood. Wine-colored velvet curtains covered what must have been doorways on three walls. Two heavily armored and armed men guarded the one opposite the door to the street.

"If you're here to apply, you should see Mistress Ophala," one of the guards said.

"Thank you," Kayla answered, "I will."

The guard held the curtain aside so she could enter.

The room beyond the curtain looked more like a parlor than a taproom. The tiled floor was carpeted, and the paneled walls were hung with astonishingly good paintings. Men reclined on sofas or played cards at expensive-looking tables clustered about the large room. Elegantly clad women circulated among their male guests, delivering drinks or food. That, too, was strange. At the Flagon, drinks arrived in pewter or earthenware tankards or cups and the plates were wooden. Here, pewter was the least costly of the containers, and several of the men held crystal wine glasses. Kayla wondered what the food was like.

Still, she had to report to Cormick, and she did not see him. The guard had said she should take her questions to a woman named Ophala.

"Excuse me, miss," Kayla asked a girl with a tray, "could you direct me to Mistress Ophala?"

"I don't think we're hiring, at the moment," the girl snapped. She was quite pretty, Kayla had to admit, with lustrous dark hair, a flawless complexion... and a figure that would put Seline Lannon to shame.

"I am not looking for a job," Kayla replied.

"Oh," the girl blushed. "In that case, she's over there, by Teela. And listen... please... don't tell her what I said just now, all right? She's cut my hours enough, as it is."

"Perfectly understandable," Kayla assured her. The girl smiled her thanks and walked off with her tray.

Now that Kayla knew to look for two women who did not appear to be working, she wondered how she could have failed to notice them before. The older of the two could only be Mistress Ophala. She was a tall woman, and slender, with the same generous assets that seemed to be the norm in this place. She might be as old as Brother Merring, but if age had stolen any of her beauty, the confidence she radiated more than made up for it.

"Can I help you?" Ophala asked. Her voice was deeper than most women's, but it was rich and as lovely as the rest of her.

"I'm looking for Marshal Cormick," Kayla replied.

The two women looked at each other with what looked like anxiety.

"I am afraid that I cannot help you," Ophala said at last. "I am not acquainted with the gentleman."

"His sergeant said that he might be here," Kayla said, puzzled. "I am under orders to report to him at once."

"Ah," Ophala visibly relaxed. "In that case, he is detained, at the moment. If you would be so kind as to leave your name and address, I will see that he gets the message as soon as he returns."

"Thank you," Kayla said gratefully. "I'm Kayla, from the Watch, and I'm staying with my uncle at the Sunken Flagon... in the Docks."

"I know the place, Kayla," the woman said warmly, "though it has been too long since I have visited myself. I shall ensure that your message is delivered promptly."

"Thank you," Kayla took her leave. She was sorry to go. From the aroma coming from the kitchens, the Moonstsone Mask did not suffer the Flagon's lack of a capable cook. Perhaps one night, she and her companions might come back here for dinner, if she could find a way to do it that did not offend her uncle.

When she got back to the Flagon, Qara was just serving dinner. She took a seat by Casavir. He looked weary.

"So," she said, taking a gulp of ale, "how did it go?"

"With training and diligence, Shandra will make an acceptable fighter," Casavir said diplomatically.

"That bad?" Kayla asked sympathetically.

The paladin shook his head in a gesture that clearly said "more or less."

"How bad is the stew tonight?" she asked.

Casavir poked the mass in his bowl with his spoon.

"Is that what this is?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Kayla sighed. She was ravenous, but Sal's cooking would have to do.

"Have you ever eaten at the Moonstone Mask, Casavir?" she asked him. The paladin choked. Kayla thumped his back and handed him her tankard.

"What would make you ask that of me?" he asked, still red-faced.

"I was in there today -" she was forced to pause until he recovered from his next coughing fit.

"I was in there today," she continued, "and the food smelled good. What did I say? Shouldn't I go there?"

"No, my lady," he said firmly, "you should not."

"Why?" she asked. "It seemed nice enough, and the proprietor was very helpful. The one girl said they weren't hiring, but she sounded more like she did not want to share her wages with somebody else. Duncan doesn't let me help out around here, and we can certainly use the money."

The paladin's coughing left him purple and breathless.

"My lady," he gasped, "take my share, if we are short on funds, but do not seek employment there, I beg you! Please... may we talk of something else?"

"All right, already. Tell me about your training session with Shandra," she suggested, "when you've got your breath back."

He recovered, and they spent the next half-candle talking about Casavir's estimation of Shandra's abilities, strengths, and the areas where he needed to focus his efforts. Training with Shandra had exhausted him, however, so he retired soon after dinner.

As usual, Kayla sat with Neeshka and Khelgar. Shandra, too, had retired soon after dinner, and Qara and Grobnar were working. She did not see Bishop, but she did not really look for him. Cormick had not yet called, so they talked of how Neeshka and Khelgar would spend their time in Neverwinter. Neeshka planned to learn fletching, and Khelgar had found himself a forge with a dwarven smith, and wanted to get his smithing arm back. He would spend much of his share of the treasure on tools and supplies. One smith might let another use his forge, but none worth his sweat would let another use his tools.

"What kind of a place is the Moonstone Mask?" Kayla asked Neeshka suddenly.

"Er... a very profitable one," the tiefling said. "Why do you ask?"

"It's only that I was talking to Cas about it before," Kayla replied, "and he just about coughed himself sick."

"I bet!" Neeshka giggled. "It's a festhall, and a very expensive one, at that. It used to be no better than a seedy brothel before the war, but Ophala's cleaned it up."

"Oh!" Kayla laughed. "Poor Cas! I thought he'd swallowed his tongue when I told him that I wanted to go work there."

Neeshka just about fell off her chair laughing, and even Khelgar shook his head in an amused, tolerant kind of way, although his face, too, was very red.

"What made you go in there?" Khelgar asked.

"I was looking for Cormick," Kayla said. "His sergeant suggested he might be there... oh."

Now it was Kayla's turn to blush. Still, they were not called carnal needs for nothing, and Cormick gave everything he had to the Watch. He had no wife or lover, so he must make do where he could.

That realization led Kayla's thoughts to her own situation. Bevil had introduced her to the pleasures of male company six months before, and she had not been with anyone since. Her encounter with Bishop had discouraged her for a while, but now that she was safe again, her interest returned. Her fumbling with Casavir might have made her aware of her own needs, but it did nothing to relieve them. There was so much she wanted to learn about physical intimacy, and no way for her to find out. Bishop disgusted her and Casavir had his own very valid reasons for refusal.

"Do they have one for women?" she asked.

"A brothel?" Khelgar grunted dismissively. "Why would you need one? Just pick a man you like, let him buy you a drink, and don't put up too much of a fight. Don't you humans ever think about anything else?"

"Sorry, Khelgar," Kayla said, suddenly aware that Khelgar might find this conversation distasteful.

They were spared further embarrassment by Cormick's arrival.

He greeted her warmly and nodded a salute to Khelgar.

"My sergeant informed me you were back in Neverwinter," he said, not meeting her eyes. "Welcome home!"

"Thanks, Cormick," Kayla said. "I'm to report to you, for a while. My orders are to oversee the Watch posts in the Docks and supervise the reconstruction of the Watch building."

"Thank Tyr!" Cormick smiled. "I was hoping they'd send me somebody soon. It's been hells running the posts in the Merchant District and the Docks, and I've been relying on Jenna more than I should. She's going to have to learn to curb that attitude of hers, or she's going to wind up dead in an alley somewhere."

"She doesn't think much of Watchmen taking meals at taverns," Kayla said.

"Gods, don't tell me she was giving you lip, too," Cormick shook his head. "Most of us _live_ in taverns! Where in the nine hells are we supposed to eat? She's had that sergeant's bar less than a tenday and she thinks she's Alavar Einarson."

"Casavir's father?" Kayla asked with sudden interest. It seemed that Casavir's family used patronymics as surnames. Would that make him Casavir Alavarson or Casavir Einarson? She hoped it was the latter, since she was not sure she could pronounce the first. Or perhaps that was why he just used "Casavir of Tyr."

"I never met the man myself," Cormick admitted, "but I only came to Neverwinter eight years back. He's a bit of a legend, among the Watch in the Docks, though not so much elsewhere in the city. From what I understand, he cleaned up the Docks a lot like you did, when you first got here. He was killed decades ago. I didn't know he left a family behind, but then, I wouldn't. The Watch doesn't do much for widows or orphans, I'm afraid. But enough about ancient history. I haven't seen you in over a month. What have you been up to?"

Kayla would rather have talked more about Alavar Einarson, but she related most of what happened since they last spoke, which included everything since they left for Old Owl Well. She told him about Issani and the orcs, and Casavir ("Too bad he's asleep, would have liked to meet him"), and both of Shandra's rescues ("Twice! Helm's bones, some people are born unlucky"). By the time she was done, Cormick was on his third ale and Neeshka looked too bored for words.

"What hours should I keep?" Kayla asked.

"Days," Cormick said. "You're supervising workmen, and they can't work at night. Besides, the night crews know where to find you if there's trouble. That's unlikely, though. I won't jinx it by talking about it, though. Brelaina might not have approved of your methods, but I do."

Cormick paused.

"Say," he scratched his stubbly chin, "tomorrow is Greengrass. Do you have plans?"

"Well," Kayla smiled, "it's also my birthday, so I thought I'd spend it here, among friends. You should join us... if you can stand Sal's cooking."

"I'd like that very much," he grinned. "And I've eaten worse. I live at the Hart and Hind now, but before that, I was living at the Cabbage Rose, and old Sal's got nothing on that place. Worst food in Neverwinter. Even the rats starved."

"So what will my duties be?" Kayla asked. "I'm sure the Watch posts won't give me any trouble, but I don't know anything about buildings."

"You'll have to hire somebody who does," Cormick said. "The city is crawling with architects, since the war, so you should be able to take your pick. Can you handle the budget, or will you need an assistant."

"I'll need an assistant," Kayla said, blushing. She had never been good at sums.

"Maybe I'll loan you Jenna," Cormick laughed. "She's got her nose in everything."

Kayla laughed.

"Anything but that!" she giggled.

"So, Neeshka," Cormick turned a mock-serious eye on the tiefling, "which side of the law are you on now?"

The rogue giggled.

"I'm learning fletching," she said.

"Glad to hear it," the marshal approved.

They spent the rest of the evening talking, laughing, and catching up on gossip. Kayla limited herself to ale, tonight. She did not like it as much as wine, so she was less likely to overindulge. Still, by the time Cormick left and she said good night to her companions, she was feeling decidedly mellow.

She thought about knocking on Casavir's door. He would let her in at any hour, if she could manage to knock loud enough to wake him. Unless adrenaline was involved, the paladin woke very slowly. He was always so... adorable when he was half-asleep. She did not like using such a frivolous word to describe that warm, malleable, affectionate state he entered right after he woke up, but that was how she felt about it. While he was like that, he would hold her and allow himself to be held by her. He would stroke her hair and fold her into his arms. She wondered what would happen if she kissed him right then.

_He'd probably go along with it,_ she thought, _and then he'd hate himself for it, and you'd be back to listening to Bishop trying to get you in the sack. Don't poke the paladin._

* * *

Casavir went back to his room a troubled man. Had The Lady challenged him? Did she test him, in some way, by casually asking him if he had ever visited a house of ill repute? And what might he answer? He had never paid for his pleasure, but did that make him free from sin? He had done worse than pass a festhall dancer a handful of gold in exchange for a candle's liberty.

No, her questions had been no trial of his virtue. She really had no idea what she asked. It baffled him, how she could be so innocent and so provocative at the same time.

But what could have led The Lady to go to the Moonstone Mask in the first place? How could she have failed to see the vice that was enacted within those walls? Granted, his personal knowledge of the place dated from before the wars, and the Mask was said to be much improved, with men and women alike enjoying the opulent entertainments, in the evening, but during the day, it was still the brothel it had always been, even if the prices had risen along with the rank of its clientele. And to speak of going to work there so casually? He would have gone himself, rather than see her so degraded.

_We have something special for you, this week,_ he could hear the voluptuous proprietor saying to a potential client, _a paladin in room eight. He's a terrible lay, but he gives the best foot massages south of Waterdeep. A bargain, too, at only thirty gold._

The old harridan would love to see him humbled, he had no doubt. She had never forgiven him for the events that ended with his acquittal, eleven years before. But that was only fair, as he had not yet forgiven himself.

Still, he had other cares tonight. He must start training Shandra in earnest on the morrow, and she had far to go. She had natural talent, true, but he could see that she had a stubborn streak, and would not take readily to instruction.

He would not strive to break her of that. Tenacity and spirit in a fighter were desirable qualities, even if it made instruction more difficult.

But Casavir was weary, though it was not late. Tomorrow was another day.


	29. Greengrass

_

* * *

_

Disclaimer: Obsidian owns everybody but Kayla.

* * *

The next morning, Kayla was surprised by a knock on her door, just as she was finishing her devotions. It was Casavir.

"I hoped to catch you before you went to the Watch building," he explained. "I have something for you."

He handed her a vial that sloshed when she shook it. There were traces of something sticky on the outside, so she sniffed it. He had remembered her perfume!

"Thanks, Cas!" she smiled. "You shouldn't have."

"It was the least I could do, my lady," he said, "as I broke your last bottle."

"I told you that you didn't have to worry about it," she said, "but I'm glad you did. Thank you."

She put her hands on his shoulders and stretched, but she still could not kiss his cheek until he bent his head to allow it. He blushed, but looked pleased.

"I am glad you like it," he said. "Though I hope you will excuse me. Shandra is already awake, and I hoped we might purchase a sword and shield and begin practicing before the sun is too high. It will be warm, today, and the merchants will close early, today, as it is."

"It's Greengrass, Casavir," she said. "Nobody works on Greengrass."

"You are," he reminded her.

"I'm in the Watch," she said, "and even if honest people don't work on holidays, criminals do. But it's light duty for me, today. I'll just check in with the Watch posts, stop by the Harbormaster's to make sure that all is well with her, and give my report to Cormick..."

She paused, remembering part of the conversation of the night before.

"Your father, Casavir," she asked delicately, "was his surname Einarson?"

"Yes," the paladin replied. "What made you think of that?"

"Cormick stopped by last night... you remember me talking about him?... and he mentioned Alavar Einarson. I wondered if it was the same man. Would that make you an Einarson or an Alavarson?"

"Neither, my lady," he said, though his tone was neutral. "A man takes the name of his father because he has none other to use. I have Tyr."

"Ah," she said, then remembered something else. "I hope you will not be too tired to join the party tonight. Cormick is coming by, and he wanted to meet you."

"You are much in his company, now that you are back in Neverwinter," Casavir observed.

"He's an old friend, Cas," Kayla said. "And we're both in the Watch. He's the reason I joined in the first place. Neeshka wanted me to join a thieves' guild instead."

"Then I am glad of your friendship with him," the paladin said, "if it kept you from a life of crime."

"What kind of sword do you favor for Shandra?" Kayla asked, changing the subject. "I don't think your greatsword will suit her."

"Nor I," he agreed. "She did best with Duncan's shortsword and Grobnar's longsword. With her reach, I thought to give her Grobnar's longsword and get a better shortsword for him. Do you approve?"

"You're the expert," Kayla acknowledged. "This is likely to be another one of those things that I'm better off leaving in your hands. How long do you think it will take to make her battle ready?"

"How long do we have?" Casavir countered.

"Is she really as bad as that?" Kayla looked at him in concern. From Shandra's talk, it sounded like she could just pick up a sword and a few pointers and be ready to go.

"She does not have your background, my lady," the paladin said patiently, "and Highcliff is not West Harbor. She was a farmer before yesterday, and while she has some natural ability, it will take some time to train her. I would hope for at least a month, although more would be better."

"Unless Aldanon has some new leads, you'll have as much time as you need," Kayla said. "But today, I forbid you to train past mid-afternoon. I want you both to have some time to relax, this evening. Oh, and one more thing. I will have the fifth and the tenth of every tenday off. I would like you and Shandra to take those days off, as well. Maybe you can show us around the city and countryside a bit."

"As you wish," he said, though Kayla could see that the arrangement pleased him. "Forgive me, my lady, but I should be about my errands."

"Certainly, Casavir," she smiled. "I will see you this evening... and don't be late!"

* * *

Casavir brought both Grobnar and Shandra with him to the weaponsmith and the armorer. The leather armor they had found with the githyanki suited Shandra, so there would be no need to buy her new, but she needed a shield, and that should be measured to fit. She was naturally agile, so he might try her on two weapons later, but he wanted her to understand the basics before advancing. Grobnar went because he was giving up his primary mêlée weapon, and needed a suitable replacement.

He was still troubled by parts of his earlier conversation with The Lady, especially as pertained to Marshal Cormick. The Lady had many friends, he knew, and had lived much in the world throughout her short life, yet something about this one made him uneasy, though he had not yet met the man.

He was a Harborman, like herself, so it was natural enough for them to form a friendship. He had heard next to nothing of the man himself, though that was hardly surprising. Casavir had not set foot in Neverwinter since the war, and that had ended more than five years before. But Cormick had been a soldier, and Casavir knew only too well the affect that experience might have on a man. Hardship, inhuman conditions, difficult decisions, all left scars that might not be healed by potions or spells... or even time. The marshal had won distinction during the war, and his reputation was honorable, so that was something, but a soldier he remained, even as Casavir himself was. The Lady knew nothing of that. She had faced trials of her own, he had no doubt, and fought in the battle of West Harbor, she had said, but she had never faced the grim reality of an extended, sometimes hopeless, campaign, nor had she been forced to do battle against other humans. She might slay bladelings or orcs, and call herself a veteran, but face another human being across a battlefield, a man who might have been a brother, were he not Luskan... that changed things. Casavir still remembered her grief, when she had been forced to slay that orc near Eyegouger's lair.

No, The Lady was no soldier, nor would he make her one. He wished that a dozen years hence, she might still be just as ignorant of human suffering as she was now.

Yet Marshal Cormick was a soldier, though he had served with the Watch and not the Greycloaks, and he was her friend. What did he want with The Lady?

Casavir sighed. Were she to adhere to his wishes, she would be as alone as he. He did not want her to associate with tieflings, with thieves, or with self-serving rangers... nor did he want her to befriend soldiers, it seemed... nor paladins, the truth to tell. He must trust her judgment, since his own would not serve her.

Shandra and Grobnar were waiting for him to speak. Grobnar had chosen a sword.

After making their purchases, Casavir begged their indulgence while he settled his debts. When all was done, he had less than thirty gold to his name, nowhere near enough to buy The Lady a gift.

He sighed. He owned practically nothing. He would not sell Minnow, certainly, nor could he do without a horse. He needed his armor, and his weapons... save one. He had little use for his dagger, though he took little pleasure in the thought of parting with it. Still, it was the one thing he owned that he might sell, and he needed gold to buy her a fitting gift. Still, it was only Greengrass. Her birthday was still three months away, by his reckoning, and he might sell his dagger at any time. Perhaps they would adventure again, in the interim. He might not have to sell his father's dagger, after all.

They were back at the Flagon by mid-morning. Shandra had been relieved that their training would be light, that day. He had worked her hard, the afternoon before, and she was sore. Casavir shook his head. Yes, she would be tired, yes, she would ache. That was part of the process. She was strong, but she had used her muscles for other things.

Training was particularly frustrating that day, especially after their noon-time break. Shandra was easily distracted, and missed shots and blocks alike with increasing frequency. He might have to enlist another's aid in correcting that behavior. He and his assistant would go against her together. They would not both attack her at once, but they would alternate, in as random a sequence as they could arrange. With no clear idea where the next attack was coming from, Shandra would be forced to pay attention. Perhaps he might be able to drag Khelgar away from the forge... or even Elanee or the tiefling.

His distraction caused him to miss a block himself, and Shandra's wooden sword rang against the back of his helmet, knocking him to the ground and stunning him.

When he got his breath back, Shandra was standing over him looking worried.

"Sorry, Cas!" she gasped. "Are you all right?"

"I will be," he said, though his ears still rang. "Do not apologize. My head was a legitimate target, and it is my fault if I was ill-prepared for the blow. Though perhaps that should conclude out practice for today."

He accepted her offered hand in getting back on his feet, then pulled his helmet off. He felt a bit unsteady, but he shrugged it off. It was a warm afternoon, as he had predicted, and he felt sluggish.

"Er... Cas...?" Shandra said, looking at his face. "I think you're going to get a black eye from that one."

Wonderful. A black eye would go nicely with the blue doublet he planned to wear that evening.

Back in the common room, he ordered that a bath should be sent to his room. It had only been one full day since his last one, but he might as well enjoy the luxury of regular hygeine. Sal offered him a steak for his eye as well, which made him wonder how bad it was getting.

He examined the eye while he shaved. It was not swelling, nor was it painful, but it had darkened considerably. There was something oddly familiar about the discoloration... something that he should know, but its significance escaped him. He shrugged and climbed into the tub. He had suffered training injuries before.

The warm water was relaxing, as always, and he had two candles, at least, before he must present himself for the ordeal of the party that evening. He might linger in the bath as long as he wished. Perhaps a good, long soak might relieve the pounding in his head.

He rested his head against the back of the tub and closed his eyes.

* * *

The next thing Casavir knew, Duncan, Shandra and Elanee were standing over him. He was still in the bath, which was now very cold indeed, and he was just as naked as the day he was born. He grabbed the washcloth off the edge of the tub in a belated attempt to cover himself.

"What -?" he gasped.

"Easy, lad," Duncan said calmly. "Thanks, Shandra, El, but why don't you just step out in the hall and I'll tell Cas what happened."

To the paladin's relief, both women left... and neither appeared to be laughing.

The innkeeper took a seat on the chair and looked at Casavir's washstand while he spoke.

"You took a nasty blow to the head," he said. "Well, it got late, and Shandra didn't see you, so she got worried and talked to Sal. Now you and I both know that the worst thing for a head injury is a hot bath, but Sal said you'd ordered one, so Shandra came and got me, and I opened the door. Now don't go getting upset, Cas, you were out cold. I stayed with you to make sure you didn't drown and Shandra went for El. She said you had a concussion for certain, and maybe a skull fracture, too. Anyway, El patched you up, and you're good as new, unless you count the black eye. That'll take time to fade."

The bruised eye... now Casavir recalled why it should have alerted him to the possibility of worse injuries. Shandra had hit him in the back of the head, not the face. If the blow had been enough to fracture his skull, one or both of his eyes might have bruised with neither swelling nor pain, exactly as his left eye had done. He chided himself for missing such an obvious sign of injury.

"Thank you, Duncan," he said, feeling very humiliated. A familiar, sick sort of smell rose from the floor beside the tub. "I... was ill, it seems."

"A concussion will do that," the half-elf shrugged it off. "Don't worry about it. The important thing is that you don't seem to have taken any lasting harm, at least not that El could see, though you might want to get Kayla to give you a once-over when she gets back."

"She... does not know?" he asked, hardly daring to believe his luck.

"No," Duncan said, "she isn't back yet."

Duncan stood up and crossed to the door.

"I'm going to leave you alone now to get dressed," he said. "I'll send the porter up in a bit to clean up the mess... and don't you worry yourself over that. You should see how some of my guests leave their rooms. A little bit of sick on the floor is nothing compared to what I've found, the morning after a pack of half-wild crotch-fruit of the nobility checks out."

The half-elf waved away his self-conscious thanks and closed the door behind himself.

* * *

Shandra waited with Elanee in the corridor. Duncan said he was fine, and that they should go back to whatever it was they were doing, but Shandra wanted to see for herself, and Elanee wanted to see how he fared once he was standing.

He didn't keep them waiting too long.

"Ladies..." he said, "forgive me. I apologize for inconveniencing you -"

"Don't be an idiot, Cas," Shandra cut in, "you were hurt. And El doesn't mind, do you?"

"Not at all," the elf replied. "It was no trouble. I was done making potions for today, anyway, and like Shandra said, you needed healing immediately."

Casavir's face reddened.

"I am sorry you had to see me like that," he said.

"Nonsense, Casavir," Elanee said. "There is nothing shameful about nudity. My people do not trouble themselves with clothing any more than what is necessary for warmth or protection. I understand that humans are more self-conscious, but you shouldn't be. Naloch is male, and he doesn't worry that he goes through life naked."

"Naloch is a badger," Casavir said, his blush deepening.

"That is immaterial," Elanee insisted, unruffled. "Besides, with your injury so grave, I did not notice."

Casavir looked sheepishly at Shandra.

"Me, neither," she lied. To tell the truth, she would have really enjoyed the view, if he hadn't been lying there with a cracked skull. Then again, if she hadn't split his head open, she wouldn't have been in his room in the first place.

He sighed resignedly.

"I thank you for the intervention, Shandra," Casavir said at last. "I was unaware that the injury was as severe as it was."

"Head wounds are like that," Shandra said. "Juni's husband William fell off his ladder once, and when we found him, he was wading out into the harbor because he thought he could find some nice flat rocks at the bottom of it. It took six of us to bring him back to shore, he fought us so hard."

"Shall we go down to the taproom?" he asked, offering each woman an arm. Elanee had not noticed the gesture, but Shandra took the arm eagerly. She had not realized the paladin had such a muscular build, until she saw him in the tub, and accepting his arm offered a good chance to feel it. Besides, it was nice to be treated like a lady, for a while.

* * *

Kayla stretched. She had finished her rounds and delivered her report, then she and Cormick had spent the rest of the afternoon looking at proposed building layouts. It was dull, tedious work, but it needed to be done.

"Why can't you just build it like the old one?" Kayla asked.

"It was too small," Cormick said. "I had to share an office with Roe, and it didn't have an indoor training room. We're building for the future, Kayla, and we're getting more recruits, these days."

He scratched his chin.

"You know... " he began, "if we made the armory oblong instead of square, we'd have room for barracks. Some of our Watchmen might prefer living at the Watch to living in taverns. It would save them money, anyway. If we put a kitchen here, at the end of the duty room, our men would be able to prepare their own meals. That, too, would be a savings for them."

"That's very thoughtful of you, Cormick," Kayla complimented him. "The Watch can't pay them much, but if they were spared the expense of lodgings, it might be a more attractive profession."

"That was my thought, as well," the marshal nodded. "I'd like to give them all a pay raise, but that isn't possible, so maybe we can make what they do get stretch a little further. I spent as many nights sleeping on my desk as I did at the Cabbage Rose, to be honest with you."

"Will you come to live at the Watch?" she asked.

"No," Cormick shook his head. "I like being able to get away from this place every once in a while. You? Er... never mind. You have an entourage, don't you?"

Kayla nodded.

"And I'd better be getting back," she said, "or they'll start the party without me. Were you still planning on coming, Cormick?"

"Wouldn't miss it!" he smiled. "I'll walk you out. I was just going to go home and change, first. Nothing ruins a party like a Watch uniform."

Khelgar and Neeshka were the only ones of her companions she could find in the common room.

"Where is everyone?" she asked Khelgar.

"Cas got his head cracked sparring with Shandra," he said matter-of-factly. "She, El, and Duncan are upstairs patching him up now."

"What?!" she gasped, and sprinted for the stair. She stopped when she saw the paladin and Shandra on the way down it, arm in arm and looking like nothing in the world was wrong.

She swallowed the momentary surge of jealousy.

"Are you all right?" she demanded.

"I am recovered," Casavir said, releasing Shandra's arm. "Elanee healed the injury."

"Some job she did!" Kayla observed. "Your eye is purple, Cas!"

"His eye is purple because he had a skull fracture, Kayla," Shadra said tartly. "When we found him, he was unconscious and about to drown in his own bath. I would have gone to you first, but you were off holding hands with Cormick."

Rage exploded behind Kayla's eyes. Images of Shandra deliberately striking the unarmored paladin warred with visions of the farmer staring lewdly into his bath while his head slipped below the water, with the whole blanketed by a thick layer of guilt over not being there when Casavir needed her. The third was her fault, but for the first two, she could still take revenge on Shandra.

She launched herself at the woman, but collided with someone mid-leap.

"Ladies, please!" Casavir said calmly, setting her back on her feet. "Let us not make a scene. I am unhurt, as you can see."

"She cracked your skull!" Kayla sputtered.

"And Elanee has healed it," he said soothingly. "My lady, do not be angry with Shandra over that. I was undone by my own inattention, not Shandra's error. And as for the rest, I am grateful to Elanee, and to Shandra and Duncan for their prompt action, but that, too, should not cause you such unrest. Please, my lady, let it pass."

Kayla's wrath evaporated, leaving her with nothing but the guilt. Her culpability was increased by the memory of her irrational anger at Shandra. The woman had saved his life, by the sound of things, and the Kayla's first thought had been that she had seen the paladin naked.

"I'm sorry, Shandra," she said weakly. "I had no right lashing out at you like that."

Shandra looked like she might say something rude for a moment, but she shrugged.

"No harm done," she shrugged.

The tension was broken by Grobnar's return. The gnome's arms were full of daffodils, which clashed horribly with his lavender doublet.

"For you, my lady," he beamed, passing them to Kayla. He had a small bouquet for each of the women, but Kayla's portion would fill several pitchers.

"Oh, Grobnar!" Kayla gushed. "They're beautiful! Thank you."

"It's a pity they were cut," Elanee tut-tutted over the blossoms, "but regret won't bring them back. Thank you, Grobnar."

Kayla kissed Grobnar's cheek in thanks and the little bard blushed. He mumbled something about tuning his lute before the party and dashed off.

Kayla returned her attention to the paladin.

"You look nice," she said. "The blue suits you. Weren't you going to change, Shandra?"

"I have nothing to wear," Shandra said. "All my clothes burned with my house. I borrowed some leggings from El and a tunic from Neesh, but I haven't got anything for a party."

"You should have said," Kayla chided her. "It's Greengrass, so the shops will all be closed by now, and nothing I have will fit you... but you and Qara are about the same size. Maybe she'll have something you can wear. Come on."

In the end, Qara was persuaded to part with one gown, a worn-looking pale blue thing with a frayed hem and ragged lacing, but it fit Shandra well, and brought out the color of her eyes. Kayla was forced to pay the sorceress ten gold for it, which was nothing short of highway robbery, but it was that or Neeshka's tunic, so Kayla paid the extortionist and Shandra got a dress.

It was past time to dress herself, so Kayla went back to her room. She opened her clothing chest and dragged out all her gowns.

_He's seen the dark green one before, _she thought, _and it's probably going to be too warm for tonight, anyway, and it's still too cool for the yellow. The brown one is too plain, and the black one is both too warm _and_ too plain, and it makes me look like a zombie, besides. He's seen the light green one, too, but that's the only other gown I've got. I really need to talk to Grobnar about dresses. That gnome always looks good._

The problem was that her hair clashed with most colors, and her skin clashed with the rest. She was more or less limited to green, yellow, and various shades of brown, and she didn't like yellow all that much, unless it was really pale, and that showed dirt too fast to be practical for everyday wear.

She sighed and put on her spring green dress. Her hair was still damp from the bath she had taken on returning to her room, so she would wear it down tonight, but she tucked one of Grobnar's daffodils behind her ear.

She had done well, this birthday. Neeshka had given her the pretty little bracelet of gold links and peridots that she now wore, and Khelgar had given her a handy little gadget that would always point north. Duncan had given her a luxuriously soft, jade green silk robe and slippers in the hopes that she would be spending more time at the Flagon. Sal had surprised her with a pewter tankard with her name on it, though it was probably not his fault that he had spelled her name with an I rather than a Y. He had only ever heard her name spoken, not seen it in writing, if he could read at all. Grobnar had given her dozens of beautiful daffodils to brighten her room. And Casavir had given her the perfume. It was an odd gift, but the paladin meant well, she was sure. Qara had given her nothing, but a woman who would sell a gown three wearings shy of the rag bin for ten gold could hardly be expected to trouble herself over someone else's birthday. Bishop had not given her a gift, either, though he had offered to make her birthday special in other ways. She had declined the offer.

She sat at her dressing table and looked at her reflection in the polished bronze mirror. She needed something, though she could not say what. She tried putting a bit of kohl around her eyes, but her blond eyelashes stood out starkly against it, and it made her look more comical than sultry, so she washed it off. She would just have to go as she was. It was already getting late. The sun had long since set.

The tavern was already lively when she arrived, though her companions had waited for her before filling their plates from the buffet Duncan had ordered.

Shandra looked lovely in her shabby gown, Kayla had to admit. In the candlelight of the Sunken Flagon, the wear the gown had endured was hardly apparent, and the color suited her coloring far better than Kayla would have thought. Everyone looked good. Elanee wore a simple olive-green gown, and even Duncan had put on a good tunic for the occasion.

Her uncle had spared no expense for tonight, it seemed. The table was laden with fresh bread and cold meats and cheese, and enough asparagus and young greens to appease even Casavir's appetite for them. There was no fruit, but it was still too early in the year for fresh. Tonight's dinner was so vastly superior to anything she had eaten at the Flagon to date that Kayla wondered how it was possible that it had all come out of the same kitchen, but then, Duncan could hardly afford to throw a party like this every night. Roasted chickens and hams cost more than stew. They had probably been purchased already cooked, like the bread, because the Flagon had no oven. Sal could fry up sausages and bacon on the hearth, but it took serious firepower to roast enough meat to feed the crowd that populated the Flagon tonight.

Cormick arrived just as they were finishing up their first helpings, but Kayla cheerfully refilled her plate... just to avoid forcing her friend to eat alone, of course. Most of the others went back for seconds, as well, or thirds, in Khelgar's case, so she felt less the glutton than she otherwise might.

"You outdid yourself tonight, Duncan," Cormick heartily approved. "I haven't had fiddleheads since I left West Harbor. Your Sal's done a fine job with them."

"I'll tell him you said that," Duncan beamed. "He cooked the vegetables, and he'll be pleased to hear that they were appreciated. He doesn't get a lot of praise for his cooking."

"The asparagus is also very good," Casavir supplied.

That reminded Kayla of her manners.

"I'm sorry, Cormick, I've been lax in introductions. Cormick, this is Casavir of Tyr, Alavar's son. Casavir, Cormick."

The men obediently brushed off the crumbs and shook hands.

"I have heard much of you," Casavir said. Kayla thought he looked longer at the marshal than courtesy required.

"And I, you," Cormick replied, inclining his head. "I expected you to be older. Alavar died before I was born."

"I was too young to remember him," the paladin said uncomfortably, then changed the subject. "The La-... Lady Kayla tells me that you are rebuilding the Watch headquarters in the Docks."

"Yes," Cormick acknowledged. "It will take several months, but I hope it will be fully operational by the end of the summer. I fear that I'm likely to take your Kayla from you for some time, assuming that she doesn't get called to Maztica, or some such ungodly place between now and the building's completion."

Cormick paused, and lifted the cloth satchel he'd carried into the Flagon.

"Speaking of Maztica, I have something for you," he said to Kayla. He presented her with a crystal jar full of what looked like dark brown wax shards. "It's called chocolatl. The natives melt it and drink it mixed with water, like we take our coffee, but we of the Sword Coast have a sweet tooth. Neverwinter confectioners mix the molten paste with crystallized honey or beet sugar and press it into great slabs to cool. Try it."

Kayla placed a sliver on her tongue. It was bitter, but slightly sweet, and very rich. The flavor was earthy, but pleasingly so. It tasted addictive.

"Thank you, Cormick," she said. "I've never tasted anything like it. It's delicious."

"I've developed a rather unhealthy relationship with it, myself," Cormick chuckled. "It's just the thing after a long day."

"I can believe that," Kayla agreed, placing the jar on the table. She thought about passing it around so that her friends could sample it as well, but the jar was not very large, and she was afraid that Cormick might interpret her generosity as a lack of regard for what must have been a costly gift. She settled for leaning forward to kiss the Harborman's cheek. Unlike most people she met, the Watch marshal knew the appropriate West Harbor response: a kiss on the cheek in return. Cormick missed and got her mouth instead, but that happened, sometimes.

"My lady," Casavir said suddenly, "Grobnar is beginning to play."

The tiny bard had begun a lively dance tune. The Flagon's guests made way in the middle of the floor for any potential dancers. After a moment, Duncan seized Shandra's hand and led her to the dance floor, together with half a dozen other couples. Kayla watched them happily. Her uncle, at least, was really enjoying the party.

After dancing with Shandra, Duncan claimed Neeshka for a dance. Shandra went to Casavir.

"Um..." she began, "do you want to dance?"

"Forgive me, Shandra," he said. "I rarely dance."

"Well I'm game," Cormick said. "What do you say, Kayla?"

"I'd love to," she smiled.

After dancing with Cormick, she danced with Duncan, and with Khelgar, and once with a stranger who happened to ask, and then again with Cormick, and once with Neeshka, because the tiefling was disappointed that Khelgar would only dance with her the once and nobody else besides Duncan was offering.

Casavir was very quiet, she thought. He might not enjoy parties as much as she did, but he knew everyone around him. He had passed many an evening around a campfire talking to Kayla's companions, but now, he was silent. She sat down beside him and put a worried hand on his arm.

"How's the head?" she asked.

"Fine, thank you," he replied. "Are you enjoying the dance?"

"I am," she said crisply, "but you are not. What's the matter, Cas?"

"Perhaps I am just out of sorts," he answered, though he tried to smile. "Pray do not let my ill humor ruin the evening for you."

"I know what the problem is," Duncan roared, swooping in on them. "You're at least four drinks behind the rest of us. Have a bit of venom. You'll feel better."

He passed the paladin half a mug of clear, nearly colorless wine. Casavir sniffed it and took a sip.

"No wonder Duncan is so jovial tonight," he said. "This apple wine would peel paint."

Kayla watched in stunned disbelief as the paladin tossed off the rest of the tankard.

She was prevented from further reflection by Cormick's third request for a dance. It was a slower, more stately tune, this time, and Cormick led her through the maneuvers with practiced skill. The next song, too, was slow, and Cormick took her hand when she started to leave the dance floor.

"You can't be tired already," he said.

Kayla felt a touch on her arm.

"Forgive me, Marshal Cormick" a familiar, deep voice said behind her. "I wondered if I might claim your partner for the next dance."

"Certainly, Casavir," Cormick said cordially and stepped aside. "I see that Shandra is without a partner, at the moment. Perhaps I may tempt her."

He bowed and left the floor.

"My lady?" Casavir said, extending his arm to her.

"I thought you didn't dance," Kayla said in surprise.

"I hope I will not embarrass you by treading on your toes, my lady," the paladin said.

Kayla just took the offered arm and allowed him to lead her through the next dance. For someone who professed no love of the activity, he certainly was good at it. There was an elegance about the way he moved through the pavane that reminded her more of palaces than of festhalls. She found herself entranced by him once more. For the space of that one dance, her existence began and ended with her hand on the paladin's arm.

At last, the music was silenced, and the evening was drawing toward a close. Kayla moved to leave the dance floor, but Casavir's hold on her hand tightened. He drew her toward him and leaned closer. For a moment, she wondered if he might kiss her, but he spoke softly, instead.

"Be careful, my lady," he whispered. "Marshal Cormick might be an honorable man, but he is still a danger to you."

Kayla sighed. Was that why he had asked her to dance? To prevent her from dancing with Cormick?

"Thank you, Casavir," she said, "I will keep that in mind. But it's time to say our goodnights."

It was true. Cormick was kissing Shandra's hand in farewell, and gathering up his now-empty satchel in preparation of leaving.

"Say, Kayla," he said, "you've got a day off coming in a couple of days. Did you have plans?"

"I don't know," Kayla replied. "Do we, Casavir?"

"I thought I might show you the ruins south along the coast," the paladin answered.

"Ah," Cormick said, "perhaps next time? At the end of the tenday, there's supposed to be a play in the park... your friends would be welcome, of course."

"I should like that very much," Kayla said.

The marshal shook hands with Duncan and Casavir, waved a jaunty farewell to the rest, and left, presumably for his lodgings.

Most of the other guests were leaving, as well, except for the dozen or so residents. Many of them were settling down for a nightcap. Elanee excused herself, though Kayla could understand that. The druid had stayed up long past her usual bedtime.

Duncan produced a pitcher of apple wine and poured some in each of their cups.

"I don't remember the last time we had such a lively crowd at the Flagon," he said approvingly. "And Sal says we made a fortune on drinks. You're getting half of that, Kayla, and don't you dare object. If you weren't here, tonight would have been as quiet as Kelemvor's great hall, and Sal and I would have spent the holiday looking at each other over the bar, same as every other Greengrass."

He stared into his cup for a moment.

"I should have dances here more often," he said at last. "Or maybe just on holidays. Give them too often, and the Flagon would turn in to a festhall, and we're just not set up for that."

"If you do, you'll have to find yourself another slave," Qara snapped and dropped into a chair next to Grobnar. "My feet are killing me."

"Don't tell me you didn't make out well tonight," Duncan chided her. "I saw you short-changing my guests."

"They were too far gone to notice a silver or two," Qara said, as if the intoxication of the patrons excused her theft.

"Maybe," Duncan said sternly, "but if I catch you doing that on any other night, I'll have to drop my prices to make up for what you take, and you had better believe that you'll be paying me back the difference in sweat."

Qara and Duncan started bickering in earnest, then, but Kayla tuned them out. They seemed to enjoy baiting each other. She turned her attention to Casavir, instead. The paladin's cup was empty again, and he looked to be nodding in his chair.

"Can I walk you to your room, Cas?" she asked him softly.

He jerked awake at her words, and nodded sheepishly. It was an empty gesture, she knew. If the paladin stumbled, there was little she could do to keep him on his feet, but he took her arm anyway and let her lead him toward the stair.

He unlocked his door with only a little hesitation, then peered inside. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he held the door open wider.

"Would you care to come in, my lady?" he asked. "I have not yet given you a report of Shadra's progress today."

"Is that advisable?" Kayla asked, suddenly hesitant.

"You have nothing to fear from me, my lady," he said.

So, Kayla allowed him to seat her in the chair that was not serving as his armor rack while he sat on the bed. He poured her a cup of water and, to her confusion and amusement, took a long pull himself, directly from the carafe.

"Just how much have you had to drink, Casavir?" she asked him incredulously.

"Just now?" he countered. "No more than a couple swallows, I should think."

Kayla swatted his knee.

"More, perhaps, than was advisable," he admitted. "But I have not befuddled my wits. Shall I give you my report?"

Kayla doubted the veracity of that, but if he was drunk, he was obviously not aware that he was, so she let him go on.

"She has a good arm," the paladin said with unfailing accuracy. "Her shield-work is still sloppy, and her attention easily diverted, but I hope to enlist another's help in correcting that before another day passes. Bad habits are best addressed as soon as they are detected, lest they become entrenched behavior. She is faster, perhaps, than I am, so I expect that she will make a passable swordsman."

"Thank you, Casavir," Kayla said. "I see that my decision to leave her training to you was a good one. Anything else to report?"

"No, my lady," he said, "but I had a question I would ask of you, if you would allow it."

"Certainly," she agreed, curious.

"Why did you allow him to kiss you?" the paladin asked.

"Cormick?" Kayla asked in surprise. "He didn't kiss me... oh, you mean when he gave me the chocolatl! In West Harbor, when one person gives another a gift, the customary thanks is a kiss on the cheek. You've got that part, already. If the people are not familiar with each other, the gesture is rather formal, and it's just a quick peck. If the giver is a friend of the recipient, the giver kisses the recipient's cheek in return. It's kind of like saying 'I give it gladly, and I'm happy that you like it.' Or at least, it's supposed to be a kiss on the cheek. Oftentimes, it's reflex, more than anything else, and the giver misses the cheek and gets mouth, nose, or chin instead, or sometimes, an ear. It's the thought that counts, not the aim."

"I see," the paladin said, visibly relaxing. "In that case, I owe you a kiss, for this morning."

He leaned forward and planted a quick, slightly shaky kiss on her cheek. She smiled.

"We'll make a Harborman out of you yet, Casavir of Tyr," she chuckled. "I should really let you get some sleep, though. Shandra is an early riser, and you know what you're like in the morning."

He smiled sleepily at her and touched her cheek in farewell. She rose.

"Don't forget to lock the door behind me," she reminded the paladin, and closed the door softly behind her.

* * *

After reluctantly locking the door behind his leader, Casavir stripped and stretched out on his bed. He really should get a duplicate key made for her. There was no reason she should not have immediate access to his room any time she required it... and then he remembered the scene she had so nearly interrupted, the night Shandra was kidnapped. He would have died of shame, had she walked in on him while he indulged in self-abuse.

_If you're ashamed of yourself for that, you should be,_ Casavir's conscience asserted. _It's a disgusting habit, and not worthy of your calling. Give her the key, and simply stop doing __anything that might offend her._

_But I bathe, as well,_ his modesty protested. It seemed like all his inner voices were determined to be vocal, tonight. _And I relieve myself, when I have the need._

_And so does she,_ his conscience snapped back. _And what have you got that any other male has not? Besides, she always knocks, and you can call out that you wish her to wait a moment. There are any number of legitimate reasons that she should have a key to your room, and none save your modesty - quiet, you! - that she should not. You are a paladin, man, sworn to serve and protect. You cannot do that very effectively if there is a locked door between you and her for one third of every day._

_Her uncle might not approve of you making a duplicate key to one of his locks,_ his modesty put in one last, desperate bid for refusal.

_How likely is it that he would refuse additional protection for his niece?_ his conscience countered. _It is not as if she were giving you a key to her room. She will still have her sanctuary, and you will have peace of mind because you know that she will never be prevented from reaching you, if she needs you._

With that settled, he turned his thoughts once more to the events of the day. He did not want to think any more about his injury, or about Shandra finding him in his bath, but as always, the most certain way to think of something was to resolve not to do so. She had gotten an eyeful of him, all right, though perhaps she had been sincere in her assertion that she was too focused on his injuries to notice his nudity. He could only hope. He completely believed what Elanee had said on the subject. The elf could not even be bothered to close the front of her lean-to when she dressed, so she would hardly care what he wore. To the druid, they were all just animals who had no fur to keep them warm, and clothing served only to remedy the lack.

His fears regarding Cormick were quieted on meeting him. The marshal had shown no sign of taking advantage of The Lady's friendship, and he had danced with Elanee and Shandra as often as he had danced with his lieutenant. He had invited her to accompany him on an outing, but he had included the rest of her companions, as well. No, Marshal Cormick did not lavish attention on her because he desired her. He sought only friendship, and there was no sin in that. Even the kiss he had shared with The Lady had been no more than a pleasant custom of their people.

Casavir's conscience prodded him, so he thought about the kiss he had shared with her himself, before the vocal entity could launch another diatribe. He had kissed her cheek, nothing more. He had been tempted to "miss" as Cormick had done, but he had resisted. It would have been nothing short of deliberate deception, and he could have no part of that, no matter how much he longed to taste her lips again. The desire that thought provoked was all the proof he needed that such a thing should not happen. He could not trust himself not to take more than was offered with her kiss.

For only the second time since making his vows, he regretted that they had included no chastity oath. Except for the once, long ago, his conscience had been the only master he needed to keep his lust in check. Now, the knowledge that he was permitted to unite himself with a woman for love or procreation tormented him. If he loved her, he might yield to the temptation of her body, but he did not love her. He desired her, certainly, but the gulf between lust and love could not be crossed by a man who bore the weight of The Duty.

He must learn to curb his hunger with no convenient oath to reinforce his convictions. He must rely on strength of will.

To maintain his strength, he needed to rest. He might yield to _that_ temptation with an easy conscience.


	30. Lessons

_Disclaimer: Obsidian owns everybody but Kayla, yada yada._

_Notes: This chapter and the next three or four have been really tough to write. They're all part of a sequence of events, and it really does go somewhere, but the voyage is not always pleasant, nor is the road always straight. Don't be too hard on Kayla. She's got to learn a few things the hard way._

* * *

The day after Greengrass, life returned to normal at the Sunken Flagon. Casavir trained Shandra, sometimes assisted by Khelgar, Neeshka, or Elanee. Qara and Grobnar worked for Duncan. Bishop was off on a hunting party with a batch of nobles. Khelgar, Neeshka, and Elanee busied themselves with crafts, when they were not helping Casavir with Shandra, and Kayla had the Watch. These days, her duties mainly consisted of interviewing architects, stonemasons, and other craftsmen, but she still made her rounds between Watch posts and the Harbormaster.

The second day after Greengrass, the Harbormaster had a bit of a surprise for her. A Luskan ship, the Sea Ghost, had docked, and the Harbormaster feared that a Luskan presence in Neverwinter might revive hostilities that had only slumbered since the war. She wanted the Sea Ghost gone by nightfall. Wisely, Kayla brought Casavir, Khelgar, Neeshka, Elanee, and Shandra, of course, to investigate.

The Luskans threatened her at first, telling her to mind her own business, that a Luskan vessel had every right to dock in Neverwinter, if it chose and if the Harbormaster allowed it. Upon learning that the Harbormaster did not, in fact, allow it, they turned violent, and attacked. The band was led by a mage, Ahja the Azure. They did not last long against Kayla and her friends, but before he died, Ahja made a startling confession. He was not working for Luskan after all, but an unknown "master of the fifth tower," Black Garius.

That information did not strike Kayla as important, nor did it prevent her from killing Ahja and sending the Sea Ghost back to Luskan with Neverwinter's "compliments," but it did unsettle Casavir. When they got back to the Flagon, he told her why.

"Luskan was once ruled by pirates," the paladin said. "That much, I am certain you know. Some years ago, the city was rent by civil war, and a magocracy was established to quell the rebellion. Luskan is now ruled by the Hosttower mages, who are four in number. This Black Garius, the self-styled "master of the fifth tower" is an unknown quantity. I do not like moving pieces on a board where I do not know all the players."

"Who cares?" Neeshka shrugged, polishing a ring on her tunic. "They left some hefty loot behind, wherever they hailed from."

"We'll be splitting that evenly, Neeshka," Kayla looked up from healing Shandra. The farmer-turned-fighter had taken heavy damage, and Casavir had carried her back to the Flagon barely alive.

"Yeah, yeah," Neeshka rolled her eyes. "But we'll still get at least two hundred apiece, if I'm any judge."

Two days after that, Casavir led them on his promised excursion. Rain threatened, but Kayla would not hear of putting off the outing.

The ruins were beautiful, in a sad, lonely way, no more than a crumbled keep and tower upon a cliff, but the orchards were still standing. The rest of her companions had scattered to explore the ruins, so Kayla walked alone with Casavir through the untended orchard, leading their horses amid the low branches. The apple blossoms were just beginning to bud.

The paladin reached up seized a branch, and brought it down for Kayla's inspection.

"Even here, amid the ruin, there is life," he said. Kayla took his hand.

"There is always another morning," she answered. The words were trite, she knew, but he smiled on hearing them.

They walked in silence for a while, hand in hand. The sky might be gray and overcast, but the rain held, at least for now. The sounds of Grobnar's lute floated on the breeze. He played a mournful song, for the ruined keep.

Kayla shivered, and the paladin drew her under the shelter of his cloak. It was slow, walking like this, but there was no rush. They paused in the shelter of a wall, and Casavir wrapped his cloak more tightly about her, though that meant the he held her, and she, him. She laid her head against his chest, and he rested his cheek against her hair. She felt him sigh.

"Are you sad?" she asked softly.

"No," he replied. She raised her face to look at him. He stared into the distance, but nothing appeared to trouble him. He looked more thoughtful than anything else. Noticing her attention, he kissed her forehead. His arms tightened about her, and he laid his cheek against her hair again.

The first heavy drops of rain fell, breaking the silence.

"We should seek shelter, my lady," he said. "Come, there is a building not far from here that still has a roof."

The building was a well-house, and cool, but Casavir held her still, and his cloak warmed them both. She thought about kissing him, here in the privacy of the well-house, but the sudden appearance of Grobnar and Shandra banished that wish... as well as Casavir's embrace. On seeing the others, he stepped away from her. She shivered in the cold, but did not protest.

Shandra stared at the paladin, then at Kayla.

"I guess you got your bid in early," she said.

Casavir coughed self-consciously. Kayla rolled her eyes. She sighed exasperatedly and dragged Shandra out of the well-house, into the rain.

"There's nothing going on," Kayla told her. "I was cold, and he has a warm cloak."

"So you aren't lovers?" Shandra asked.

"No," Kayla said. Shandra smiled shyly.

"Sorry," she said. "Jumped to conclusions."

"Understandable," Kalya said, "but no, definitely not what it looked like."

_And if you think you can get him in bed with you, you're welcome to try,_ Kayla added privately.

"Come on," she said out loud. "Let's get back in, where it's dry."

Khelgar and a thoroughly soaked Neeshka followed, with Qara and Elanee not far behind.

"What happened to you?" Kayla fretted over Neeshka's wet clothing.

"_Somebody_ decided that the rocks couldn't possibly be that slippery," Khelgar grunted.

"And you fell in?" Kayla asked. Neeshka nodded, her teeth chattering.

"Hey, Qara," Kayla said, after a flash of memory, "do you have any cantrips that will dry clothing? I fell in the stream, one time, and Retta Starling dried me off in a heartbeat."

"Like I'd bother with _laundry_ spells!" the sorceress sneered. "A fireball would dry you off quick, though..."

"You watch where you're wagging those fingers!" Khelgar threatened.

"That's enough," Kayla said firmly. The well-house was the only shelter they had, and it was too small for another Qara/Neeshka/Khelgar battle.

"I've got something that will help," Elanee said. "It won't dry her off, but it will keep her from minding the cold so much. Do you have any objection to Endure Elements?"

"Not one bit!" Neeshka shivered.

After Elanee cast her spell, Neeshka was still dripping, but her lips were no longer blue.

"How long do you think the rain will last?" Kayla asked Casavir.

"It is hard to say," he said. "It could pass in a candle, or it could last all night."

Kayla sighed.

"Let's hope for a candle," she muttered.

"I am sorry we did not have better weather for our outing," Casavir said.

She smiled at him, remembering their time in the orchard.

"It was perfect," she said. "You can't have a rainbow without a few clouds."

In the cramped quarters of the well-house, she felt someone squeeze her arm.

The rain did not last even a candle, though more threatened. It was probably a good time to leave.

"Do you know the history of this place?" she asked Casavir as they rode up the path towards the road. The route offered a good view of what was left of the tower.

"It is a sad tale," he said, "and I do not know if it is true."

"I'd like to hear it anyway," she said, "if you don't mind telling it."

"As you wish, my lady," he said. The paladin cleared his throat. "Two hundred years ago or more, a poor knight fell in love with a lady. He had title, but no land, and no means of supporting his lover. He vowed that he would not cheapen her love with poverty, so he would build her a keep worthy of her grace. He was an honorable knight, though, and it took him long to save enough to buy the land, and longer to build the keep atop the hill. Finally, his lover sent word that she would come to him in the autumn, by sea. That summer, he had the tower built, so that he might sooner see her approaching ship. Every day, he would gaze out over the waves, and every night, he would look for lanterns on the horizon. Morning and night, he appealed that Umberlee would grant her safe passage. Umberlee heard his pleas, and became enamored of his voice. In jealousy, she sank the ship of his lover, and took all souls into the deep. Autumn came, and his lover did not, and then winter, and spring, until one day the prow of her ship washed up on the shore, and he knew that she was lost. Umberlee sang to him, then, saying that she would restore his love to life, if he would join her in the waves. He cast himself from the cliff into the sea, but Umberlee was false to her word, and kept them both. Perhaps the lovers are united in death. The tales do not say."

"You were right, Casavir," she said. "It is a sad story. If I were Brother Merring, I would say there was a lesson in it."

"It means something?" Casavir asked, his voice heavy as the tale he had just told.

"Everything happens for a reason," she said, "even if we don't know it at the time. Brother Merring would have said the story teaches us to love as we are, not as we wish we were. Were it not for his greed, selfless though it was, the knight might have wed his lover at once, poor though they were, and spared both their lives."

"Then perhaps their lives were not in vain," the paladin said, "if the tale serves as a warning to others."

Kayla sighed. Meaning or no, it was still a mournful tale, and Casavir, at least, did not listen to the words that came out of his mouth.

It began raining again in earnest, a few miles out from Neverwinter, but near as they were, there was little point in seeking shelter. They rode on, and spent a cozy evening sipping mulled wine in front of Duncan's hearth.

The next few days brought a return to routine. There were no more Luskan vessels to repel, and little crime to take Kayla's mind off the incessant drudgery of construction supervision. They had finally hired their architect, and their stonemasons, and their foreman, and now all that remained was to check their progress and sign their pay vouchers. Kayla spent much of her time in Cormick's office buried under a sea of paperwork.

"How do you stand it, Cormick?" she asked. "Paperwork all day, every day?"

He shrugged.

"You get used to it, after a while," he said. "I can't say I like it, but somebody has to do it. Better that the somebody is honest. Think about it, Kayla. How much gold passes through your hands, every day? If it were anybody else, I'd be up to my eyeballs in your work, as well as my own, double-checking all your figures. At least this way, we get our evenings off, for the most part. Speaking of which, mind if I join you at the Flagon tonight? The Hart and Hind might have a good kitchen, but the place is as dull as Jenna's lectures."

"Not at all!" Kayla smiled. Cormick joined them after work three times a tenday, now, apart from every other day off. The marshal enjoyed her company, of course, but also Shandra's and Khelgar's, especially.

They had established a routine. The first two days of the tenday, they would work late. The third day, they would leave as close to "on time" as they could manage, and they would go back to the Sunken Flagon. The fourth day, Cormick was out of the office, and Kayla covered his shift, as well as her own. The fifth day, she would have off, and she would spend it with her companions, while Cormick covered her shift. The sixth day, they would go to the Flagon, and the seventh, they would work late. The eighth day, too, they would go to the Flagon. On the ninth day, Cormick usually left a candle early. Kayla suspected that he went to the Moonstone Mask. Then, on the tenth day, he and Kayla's group would do something together.

As for Casavir, she rarely saw him anymore. They still closeted themselves for Shandra's progress reports after dinner every day, but Casavir usually retired soon after. She missed his company, of course, but Shandra's progress was worth the sacrifice. She was coming along nicely, but that meant more work for Casavir. As her skill increased, he was forced to exert himself more to present a challenge. Since they now sparred with live steel, it was even more important that he keep his head clear and his wits sharp.

Bishop, too, was accepting offers that took him far afield. That was his profession, though. When he was not adventuring, he led parties of rich nobles on hunting expeditions. The loss of his presence in the common room bothered Kayla far less than the loss of Casavir's.

Khelgar and Neeshka were good company, of course, and she was even becoming fond of Shandra's forthright ways, but she missed the paladin's attention.

They had been at the Flagon for perhaps a month and a half when Kayla reached a turning point in her relationship with Cormick. It was the eighth afternoon of the tenday. Ordinarily, Cormick would accompany her back to the Flagon tonight.

Perhaps it was the warming spring air, or her frustration over no longer spending so much time with Casavir, but when she looked across the desk at Cormick, something wicked crept into her imagination.

He had his head down over his paperwork, as he often did, trying to get the last of it out so they could enjoy a few drinks without the worry of unfinished work waiting for them. He had not shaved, and the afternoon sunlight streaming through the broad windows of the Watch building turned his whiskers and hair golden. He had put his chainmail and gambeson by in the warmth of his office and sat at his desk in his shirt, with his sleeves rolled up and the neck open. He never looked more manly.

Several months of frustrated desire reasserted themselves strongly, just then, and Kayla found herself wondering what he looked like naked. Cormick was not Casavir. He had no vows to uphold, and she already knew he visited the Mask every tenday.

Suddenly, she realized that she wanted him.

She did not want him as a lover, with the hopes of a lifetime together. She wanted him the way she had wanted Bevil, to satisfy her desire and then, once they were dressed, go back to being just another friend.

_What a slut I am,_ she thought. _Seven and a half months without a man, and I'm ready to throw away a perfectly good friendship for a roll in the linens._

_But maybe it doesn't have to ruin the friendship... He takes company at the Mask every tenday. He can make love to a woman and walk away as if it had never happened. But could he do it with me? And what if Casavir should find out..._

_No,_ her conscience spoke, _you aren't a slut for wanting a man. You're a slut for contemplating lying with a man because the man you really want won't lie with _you._ You want Cormick only to scratch an itch, and your terror that Casavir might find out should be all the warning you need that you're making a mistake._

Still, the thought would not leave her.

Cormick scrawled his signature across the bottom of his last form and stretched expansively.

"My, but that ale is going to taste good, tonight," he said in happy anticipation.

"Cormick..." she heard herself say, "how about we eat at the Hart and Hind instead, tonight. You're always saying the food is better, and ale is the same at one place or another."

"That's what you think," Cormick grunted. "The Flagon has the best ale in Neverwinter, even if the food would gag a maggot."

"Precisely," she said. "We could eat at the Hart and go back to the Flagon afterward."

"I suppose we could send word to your friends," Cormick allowed, " so they don't think you fell in the river."

"No," Kayla said quickly, "they'll be all right, and we won't be gone long. I've worked late before."

"Er..." he said uncomfortably, "no offense, but... ah, hells, I guess a candle won't make a difference, either way."

He swallowed nervously, as if he guessed at least part of what Kayla had been thinking.

The Hart and Hind was in the Merchant District, and not far from the Watch building. Cormick escorted her to a table near the back and waved to the barkeep, holding up two fingers and pantomiming eating. He then sat in silence, waiting for her to speak.

"This is a nice place," Kayla said dutifully, though it was a lie. The room was darker than the Sunken Flagon, and more cramped.

"It's home, of a sort," Cormick said. "Don't know if I'd ever really feel at home anywhere, though."

"You don't want to settle down some day?" Kayla asked innocently, hoping he would say no.

"Not on your life," he said sharply. "The Watch is my life, and there isn't a lot left for anything else... or anyone else."

"You have friends," Kayla reminded him, pleased by the vehemence of his answer.

"There is that," Cormick admitted, "and I value them greatly, Kayla. But I wasn't made for opening up a shop or staking out a farm and raising a pack of kids. My life suits me, and I suit it."

"Naturally," Kayla smiled. "You're very good at what you do. Neverwinter is lucky to have you. And I, too, value friendship."

Their food arrived, and they spent the next several moments sampling it. Cormick had been right. They got stew, same as they would have had at the Flagon, but unlike the Flagon, this stew was savory and delicious. It made up for the insipid beer that accompanied their meal, in Kayla's mind, but Cormick looked ruefully at his tankard.

"How about you?" he asked at length. "You do a fine job, and I've never had a better lieutenant, but I know your heart isn't in it. Don't get me wrong. I'm glad to have you in the Watch, and glad to have you as a friend, but I know there's somewhere you'd rather be. You want that family life, don't you?"

"Someday," Kayla admitted. There was no use lying about it. "But not yet. Right now, I'm exactly where I need to be, doing exactly what I need to be doing."

"One day at a time, right Kayla?" he smiled, and applied himself to his stew once more. They spent the rest of their meal in small talk. Finally Cormick put a few coins in the hand of the serving maid and pushed his chair away from the table. Kayla put a hand on his knee.

"Er... Kayla?" he said, his voice sounding a bit choked. "What are you doing?"

Kayla sighed. She had not figured out how she was going to do this part. She opted for honesty.

"Be easy, Cormick," she said. "I'm not trying to pressure you into anything, but..."

Her voice trailed off. How was she supposed to get through this?

He pulled his chair back toward the table and looked at her.

"Are you propositioning me?" he asked calmly.

"Er... yes," she breathed. "I understand if you don't want to... I mean, you're my friend, and you'll still be my friend, whether you say no or yes, but, well, it's been a long time, and..."

He sighed, too.

"It isn't that I don't want to, Kayla," he said. "I do... really, I do. It's just that I already told you the kind of life I lead. I wouldn't want you to get your feelings hurt, if you know what I mean... because you're my friend."

"It sounds to me like we both want the same thing," Kayla said.

"Are you serious?" he asked. "Would you really be willing to go up to my room, and come down again as nothing more than a friend?"

"Yes, actually," Kayla said. "Would you?"

"Well, yes, but that isn't something I hear every day... or ever, for that matter. There's something else I wanted to say, but I'd better say that in privacy. Are you sure you want to go upstairs with me? I won't blame you if you say no."

"No, I want to," she said. It kind of killed the mood, talking about it like this, but the feeling would come back soon enough, once he had his shirt off, and it was better to be honest from the outset.

He led her up to his room. It was small and cramped, and reeked of gambeson, but that did not much matter.

"Now, Kayla," he said, "before this goes any further, there are a few things we need to talk about. I value your friendship deeply. I don't want anything that happens here to change that, but that's all it will ever be. Do you understand that?"

"I do," Kayla said. "I would have said the same to you."

"That's good to hear," Cormick said, smiling. "And I know there's nothing right now between you and Casavir, or I wouldn't have led you this far, but if something does happen, I'll wish you joy and dance at your wedding. Same goes if you just get tired of my ugly mug. You just say the word, and we'll be right back as if nothing had ever happened. Can you live with that?"

"Yes," Kayla said. "And same goes for you, of course. We both have needs, and if we fulfill them together for a while, it's a blessing, but when we leave this room, it's back to 'just friends'."

"Right," he said. "There's a flask of wine on the table. Why don't you open it? Er... you'll have to drink from the bottle, I'm afraid. I've only got one cup, and I need that for myself."

Kayla opened the bottle and watched Cormick take a small muslin pouch out of a box on the table. He shook the contents into the cup. It was a light, fluffy powder, so dark green that it appeared almost black. Kayla knew it at once. It was cassil herb. It was a mild aphrodisiac, but its main purpose was to render a man sterile for one day. It grew well in the Mere, and just about everywhere else on Faerûn. She had tended the herb, while it grew, and ground it into powder at her mentor's instruction. Even repeated exposure would not harm either males or females, but the stimulating effect of the herb was not something a man wanted unless he was reasonably certain to find some relief soon. Brother Merring dispensed it freely to anyone who asked, but he had always insisted that Kayla be the one who handled the plant.

Her hand shook as she poured wine into the cup Cormick extended. Watching his preparations made it more real, somehow. She took a long pull from the bottle. Cormick drank his doctored wine.

"We should get more comfortable," Cormick said. He had put his gambeson and chainmail back on before leaving the Watch, and Kayla still wore her plate. He removed his armor quickly. Taking chainmail off was more or less the same as putting it on. The wearer just dropped his head, shoulders, and arms below his waist and wiggled. Gravity did the rest.

With his armor and gambeson off, Cormick lay on his bed, watching Kayla fumble with her buckles.

"We don't have to do this if you don't want to," he said, noticing her shaking hands.

"No, I want to," she said. "It's just that..."

"Is this your first time?" he asked gently.

"No," Kayla said, blushing. "But it was only the once, or twice, really, but both with the same person, and it was quite a while ago..."

She trailed off, aware that she was babbling. He just smiled and waited for her to finish removing her armor. At last, she eased herself down onto the bed beside him.

"You can still say no," he said. She kissed him.

The kiss rapidly became passionate. His hands moved freely over her shirt, and hers over his. She worked her hands up under his shirt and touched his bare skin... or what would have been bare skin, had he not been blessed with a Harborman's pelt. He groaned and yanked the shirt over his head, then renewed his attention to her lips... and her breasts.

He touched her gently, but he knew what he was doing. He stayed outside the shirt until he felt her breathing change, then he eased her shirt over her head. He did not give her time to react to her nudity, but bent to kiss her breasts. She gasped as he took her nipple between his lips and pressed firmly, but she thrilled at the sensation. He sucked first one nipple, then the other, stroking her the whole time. At last, he returned to kissing her lips again, though his hands moved over her buttocks and thighs, now. For a brief moment, he pulled her against his body. She could feel his arousal.

"Are you certain you want me to do this?" he gasped.

"Don't stop!" she moaned. He shuddered, and eased her leggings down over her hips, the his own. She ran her hands down his torso. His build was powerful still, despite the desk job that had plagued him the last few years. He had a little bit of fat across his belly, but his muscles were firm and his touch, confident. She ran her hands along his buttocks, easing his leggings further down his thighs. There was certainly nothing flabby about those. His backside was solid muscle, and his thighs, like two tree trunks.

She moved her hands back up, along the front of his thighs. She hesitated just a moment.

"You don't have to do this," he whispered. In answer, she took him in her hands. She gasped. He was every bit as big as Bishop had been, and already very ready for her.

"I'm not sure I _can_ do this," she whispered. He froze, and retreated from her.

"Are you all right?" he asked, concern in his face. She felt him soften slightly.

"No, I'm fine," she assured him. "It's just that I don't know if I can take you. It's... bigger than I thought it would be."

Cormick sighed in relief, and took her in his arms again.

"Now there's something I've never heard before," he said, though she thought she heard something like laughter in his voice. "And believe me, I would have remembered it. If that's your only objection, it just means that we have to take it slow. I won't hurt you, I promise. But if you don't want to, I'll stop right now."

He held her, but his hands weren't moving. She realized that he was sincere.

"I still want to," she whispered.

He started stroking her again, very gently. He moved his hand between her legs, caressing her. She parted her thighs a little, to make it easier for him, and moaned as his touch brought fresh waves of pleasure through her body. He slipped a finger inside her.

"Oh, yeah," he breathed, "we're going to have to take it slow, all right."

He kissed her one last time, then shifted in the bed. He spread her legs further apart and lay between them, on his elbows. She was not sure what he intended, but she closed her eyes. She was not disappointed. He certainly knew what he was doing.

She bit her hand to avoid crying out at the pleasure he was causing her. Just as she was sure she could not take any more, he stopped. He wiped his face on the linens and inched back up along her body until he held himself over her. She could feel him pressing against her.

He kissed her deeply. She could taste herself on him, but she did not care. She ached for him. She braced herself for the pain, but it never came. What followed instead was wonderful.

Once again, she felt that vague, achy strain as her body stretched to accommodate him, but it was thrilling. He took her slowly, but she was already nearly there before he even started. Her release began almost before he was fully inside her. She cried out as the spasms took her.

He, too, was at the end of his endurance. As her own climax subsided, she felt the tail end of his. Unlike Bevil, Cormick did not thrust into her as deeply as he could and stay there, but rather his movement lost its rhythm.

He lay still at last, breathing deeply. He rolled off her, though he embraced her still.

"Are you all right?" he asked, somewhat breathlessly.

"Better than all right," she answered dreamily. "You?"

His only answer was the tightening of his arms around her. Finally, he sighed.

"I should get you home," he said.

"I can walk myself home," she laughed. "Some Watchman I'd be, if I can't find my way back from a tavern!"

"I still want my Flagon ale," he laughed.

"Oh, all right," she chuckled. "What time is it, do you think?"

"Probably earlier than you think," he answered. "We... uh... weren't very long about it, once we got started. I'd put it at two candles after sundown, no later."

They dressed in silence. Once more, he was Cormick, a friend.


	31. Jealousy

Disclaimer: Everybody belongs to Obsidian,except the cleric.

* * *

Casavir was waiting for her at the Sunken Flagon. He had a half-full tankard and an untouched bowl of slop in front of him. He rose as she approached the table, and held out her chair as she seated herself.

He held out his hand to Cormick. The marshal hesitated only a moment before he shook it.

"A long day at work, my lady?" Casavir asked solicitously.

"Yes, Casavir," she said. "Please tell me you didn't let your dinner grow cold on my account."

"The chill kills the taste," he said. "Should I assume that you have already dined?"

"Yes..." Kayla said, unable to combat the guilt she felt over that. She had enjoyed a hot, wholesome meal while Casavir let his unappetizing plate of whatever-it-was grow cold waiting for her. "It was getting late, so we grabbed something on the way home."

"Perfectly understandable," he said calmly, pushing the bowl away. "I find that perhaps I am not hungry, after all."

"You can just order a new plate, Cas," Kayla urged. He just shook his head.

"Have you decided where we're going the day after tomorrow?" he asked Cormick politely.

"There's a sea cave a bit north of here with some fascinating rock formations," the marshal answered. "It's a pleasant ride, and a marvelous view... if the weather holds and the tide is out, that is."

"Elanee will like that," Kayla said. She felt a bit uncomfortable, sitting there between the two men, but Casavir did not know and Cormick was acting just like he always did. Casavir was drinking more than usual, however, and on an empty stomach. It was also long past the hour when he usually retired. Something was bothering him. As he showed no sign of going to bed any time soon, she suspected she would find out what it was the moment Cormick left.

Cormick, too, had noticed that Casavir was awake far longer than usual, and drinking more besides, but unlike Kayla, he did not appear distressed by this in the slightest. He clicked tankards with Casavir, ordered round after round, and continued talking to him until evening turned to night and the Flagon's patrons had begun to either leave or weave their way toward the stairs. Kayla became impatient for the marshal to leave.

"We've got an early day tomorrow," Kayla said at last. "You two can stay up all night, if you want, but I'm going to bed."

"I should probably go home, as well," Cormick said, yawning. "Good night."

Kayla watched the marshal until he was out the door and then turned to Casavir.

"Do you want to talk here or in my room?" she asked.

"In mine," he said. Kayla raised an eyebrow at that. There was no mistaking it this time. He was drunk. Still, she followed him as he wove his way across the nearly-empty common room and up the stairs.

He managed to get the key in the lock on the third try, then stood there, pressing his forehead against the wood.

"Here, Cas," she said, and gently nudged him aside so she could work the latch. Casavir had a temperamental lock on his door, and unless one jiggled the handle just right, the door would not open.

He lurched into the room and sat heavily on his bed. She sat on the chair and looked at him in concern. She had never seen him drunk before. He had said he was forbidden to become intoxicated. Would he Fall as a result of this?

She was silent a moment. There was still one way she could determine his status. Most of the time, she hardly noticed his aura anymore. It made it more pleasant to be around him, but it was just as much a part of him as his scent, so she paid it little mind. Now, she concentrated on it.

She allowed herself a sigh of relief. It was still there, and completely unaffected by his drunkenness.

"Why, Cas?" she asked him. "Why did you do this to yourself?"

He shrugged.

"I drank no more than Cormick," he said.

"You aren't used to it," she sighed, patting his hand. "And you aren't as big as Cormick... and you had no dinner."

"Ah," he said, blinking. He lay back on the bed and swung his legs up, then turned onto his side so he could face her.

"What's on your mind, Cas?" she gently prompted him.

"We used to talk," he slurred. "Yes, there were the others, but you talked to me. Now... it hasn't been just the two of us since we went to the ruins."

"Oh, Cas!" she moaned. "I'm sorry!"

She knelt beside his bed and reached for him. He threw his arms around her neck and buried his face in her hair.

"I missed you, too," she whispered into the crush of his shoulder. His chest heaved in what felt like either a hiccup or a sob, and his hold on the back of her neck tightened uncomfortably.

"Come here," he breathed, patting the bed in front of him.

"All right," she said, "but I'm going to take your boots off first. You're getting your blankets dirty."

"To the hells with my blankets," he grumbled, but he allowed her to remove his boots.

He had a spare blanket draped over the foot of his bed, so she covered him with that before lying down beside him. She still wore her armor, which was not very comfortable to lie on, but he did not seem to care. He embraced her again, and drew her tightly against his body.

He muttered something incomprehensible, but contented-sounding, then held her in silence. Gradually, she felt his breathing change, slowing and deepening to that of sleep, and the arms that held her went slack.

Once she was certain that he was truly asleep, she extricated herself from his embrace and got up. She looked at him sleeping and sighed. It was so tempting, to just lie with him until he woke, but she could not take advantage of his current state. If he decided to hold her all night when he was sober, she would not refuse him, but drunk... she could not do that to him. If he even remembered this in the morning, he would be embarrassed enough.

As she had when he had fallen asleep in her room, she left him his key and went down to the bar to look for Duncan. He had already gone to bed, Sal said, but Sal could unlock the door for her. The barman shook his head.

"Don't know why Duncan doesn't just give you keys to each other's rooms," he shrugged, stomping up the stairs. "It would save you a walk, anyway, and save us from having to drop everything to go lock the door."

"I'll ask him in the morning," Kayla said, though she had no intention of doing so, then bid him good night.

* * *

Casavir woke with a stiff neck and a mouth that tasted of dung. His head throbbed, and his stomach was anything but settled. He felt almost feverish. Why was he so ill? He was a paladin. He could not sicken... unless he went drink for drink with a burly Harborman with an iron stomach.

He felt nauseous. He lurched out of bed and fished the chamber pot out from beneath it. If he was going to throw up, he was not going to do it on the floor again. He knelt there for what felt like an eternity, clutching the chamber pot, but the queasiness did not worsen, and after a while, it subsided somewhat.

He rinsed his mouth with water and spat into the chamber pot. That brought a fresh wave of nausea, but that, too passed.

He pressed his forehead against the bed rail. Never before had he felt this ill... apart from the time he had rip-gut, but even then, he had not had a headache, nor did he feel this... wretched.

He fumbled for something in his satchel. Since Elanee was making potions, these days, he had asked her to make up a handful of antidotes for him. He did not know if a potion would cure him of the aftereffects of the ale he had consumed, but he had to do something.

_Never again,_ he swore, as he bit the wax seal off the neck of the vial. It was all he could do to gulp the foul-tasting potion, and it almost came right back up, but he kept it down, and a moment later, he felt his nausea recede. A moment after that, he felt like a new man.

He sighed in relief and began his toilette. His clothes reeked of ale... and his skin. He must have sweat at least some of it out, during the night. A bath was impossible, at the moment, but he did have a wash basin and a pitcher full of water. He could get the worst of it off.

Now that he was clean, refreshed, and had changed his clothes, he felt sleepy again. As inebriated as he had been, he had probably slept poorly. The antidote had done nothing for the crick in his neck. He lay back down on his bed. He did not know what time it was, but Shandra could wait. She was coming along nicely, and delayed start would not hurt her in the slightest.

As he lay in bed and looked at the ceiling, more of the night before came back to him. The Lady had been here, in his room. He groaned. Had he lain with her? No, his clothing was undisturbed when he woke. Surely, as drunk as he had been, he would not have bothered to dress himself again, had he... loosened his clothing. If he had not imposed himself upon her, what had he done? He remembered feeling sad, forlorn, even, and then feeling better. She must have comforted him, somehow. But what had he said? All day, he had been brooding about her recent absence in his life. Had he confessed that to her? He hoped not. He had no right to tell her where she should go or with whom she should spend her time. Still, he felt inexplicably better about that this morning. If he had said something to her about it, her answer must have soothed him enough for him to feel it now, after the words of their conversation had faded from his memory.

A strand of copper floated near the corner of his eye. He turned his head and looked at his pillow. A long, coppery hair lay upon it. He plucked the hair and examined it a moment. He had not lain with her, but she had rested her head upon his pillow.

Two possibilities presented themselves. He might have lured her to his room and persuaded her to get in bed with him, and then been unable to perform because of the drink... or he might have confessed his feelings of abandonment, and she had held him and consoled him. He could hardly decide which terrified him more. If it was the first, he had shown himself to be a lecherous, impotent drunkard, and if it was the second, he had shown himself to be a weak, selfish man who would drink himself into a quivering stupor because he did not want to share her with a childhood friend.

It was probably the second, he realized. Drink might lower his inhibitions, but it would not make him into something he was not. Unflattering as the second possibility was, it was nothing short of Tyr's own truth.

His troubled reflections were interrupted by a knock on the door. He got up to let her in. There was really only one person it could be.

* * *

Kayla stepped back in surprise when he opened the door. She had expected him to be worse for the drink, this morning, but he was fine, more composed, even, than she, to tell the truth. His clothing was clean and neat, and his short black hair still damp from his ablutions. She, on the other hand, had not had a bath since she had lain with Cormick, and was feeling far from fresh, this morning.

"May I come in?" she asked timidly.

"I would rather talk to you in your room, if you would not mind," he said. "Mine reeks of ale... I apologize, my lady. I should not have allowed myself to become so inebriated."

"Don't apologize, Cas," she said. "I've been very thoughtless, lately, but we can talk about that more comfortably in my room than we can in the hall."

She gestured that he should sit at the table, and she took a seat beside him. She touched his hand. He flinched, but he did not take his hand away, so she wrapped her fingers around it.

"I'm sorry, Cas," she said. "I've been so caught up in... no, no excuses. I had forgotten about you, and I'm sorry. Er... how much of our conversation last night do you remember?"

"None of it," he confessed, hanging his head. "Forgive me, my lady, I was not myself... no, I will not make excuses, either. I was as drunk as a lord, and I have no one but myself to blame."

"You take too much blame upon yourself as it is," she said, squeezing his hand. "Don't take my share, too. You said nothing that might embarrass you, by the way, nor did you do anything even a little bit improper."

"I am relieved," he said, smiling guiltily. "But... what did I say?"

"You just said that you regretted that we did not have much time to talk, anymore," she replied. "You were right. I've been spending so much time at the Watch, and so much time with Cormick, that I've been ignoring you. And I do miss talking to you."

He was gazing at her. He looked embarrassed, but also pleased, in a bashful way.

"Part of the problem is that you're so exhausted from training Shandra that you go to bed as soon as you've eaten," she went on more briskly. "For one thing, that is very bad for your digestion, especially with Sal's cooking. For another, it limits the amount of time we can spend together. I have to go to work. I don't think you want me to neglect my duties."

"Certainly not," he said firmly.

"So, it seems to me that the best thing to do is cut back on the training. It's getting warmer, now, and Duncan's courtyard must be brutal, with the sun straight down on it. Why don't you scale it back to just mornings, and then relax in the afternoons?"

"I could never be idle for that many hours together," he protested. "And the heat does not trouble me."

"Maybe Khelgar can show you a little bit about smithing," she suggested. "I know you know enough to mend armor, but you might even be able to make your own, if you wanted. And besides, you already know how to use a hammer. Not that a forge is the coolest place to be, on a summer afternoon, but you wouldn't be sitting idle, and it's nowhere near as taxing as weapons training."

"It might earn us some extra gold," he added. "I should contribute."

"You do contribute, Casavir," she said firmly. "Never doubt that. You pull your weight, and more. But I don't want you to just substitute smithing for training Shandra. I want you to have more leisure time. You run yourself ragged every day, and I miss those evenings when we used to count the stars or bicker over whose turn it was to get more water."

He did not smile, but his thumb caressed her fingers.

"Would you set aside two nights a tenday just for me?" she asked him shyly. "I don't mean nights we're going to spend at the Flagon anyway. I mean evenings where we can just go out and sail parchment boats down the river or whatever silly thing seems good at the time."

"I would like that," he whispered. "But I have forgotten how to make a parchment boat."

"Then I'll teach you tonight," she smiled.

"My lady," he said, "what time is it?"

"A candle after dawn," she said, "no later. I've got to go to work, but I don't want to. I wish I dared make some excuse."

"We will have this evening," Casavir smiled.

* * *

Casavir walked her to the door. His head swam at the thought of having her to himself for two evenings every tenday. He would have been happy sharing her company with Khelgar and Neeshka in the common room, but her promise was better than anything he dared hope for. How was it possible that he could have offended Tyr so shamefully the night before and still be rewarded so richly this morning?

Once he had bid The Lady farewell, he went to Sal to order his breakfast. He was tempted to overeat to make up for his lack of dinner the night before, but he would be sorry for that later, while sparring with Shandra. He would have to settle for taking something light now, with the promise of a heartier meal at their noon-time break... or more accurately, when they broke for the day, since he would no longer be training her in the afternoons, anymore. That would make Shandra happy.

Sal ladled out his porridge and pulled a mug of small beer for him to wash it down. He did not have much to say to him, this morning, it seemed. Usually, Sal greeted him with a friendly "How do you do?" and a smile, but today, the barkeep seemed preoccupied. Had he said something inappropriate to the man the night before?

"I want to apologize for anything I might have said last night, Sal," he said self-consciously. "I drank more than was wise, I fear."

"Ah, don't worry none about that," Sal dismissed his apology. "You're a quiet drunk, and no trouble at all, compared to some. But do me a favor, will you?"

"Certainly," Casavir said, though he was unsure what action he could perform that would help Duncan's barman.

"Let me order some spare keys, will you?" Sal asked. "The two of you aren't likely to steal from each other, and I reckon even Duncan would trust you not to misbehave with his niece. It gets downright annoying, leaving the bar unsupervised to go lock a door, and who knows what this lot will help themselves to in the meantime."

"I'm sorry, Sal," Casavir blinked, "I had not realized how disruptive that could be. Please, order the keys. I intended to ask Duncan's permission to give her a key to my room, in any case... because, as our leader, she should have access to any of us at any time, of course."

"Uh, yeah," Sal smirked, "that, too. By the way, never got a chance to thank you for fixing that gate in the courtyard. The hinges have sagged on that thing for years, just never got around to getting a porter to fix it so it closed properly."

"It was no trouble," Casavir said, "With us using the courtyard as a training area, I did not want a passerby to walk through the broken gate and be injured accidentally."

"Heh," he chuckled, "if you want to practice in any of the guest rooms, there are a number of them with tricky latches, too."

"What are we supposed to be practicing in guest rooms?" Shandra asked suddenly. Casavir had not seen her approach.

Casavir shuddered at the implications of that and rapidly changed the subject.

"We will no longer practice in the afternoons," he said.

"Can't say I'm sorry to hear that!" Shandra said. Casavir could hear the relief in her voice. He shook his head. Somehow, it offended him that she regarded martial training as just another kind of drudgery. She was learning skills that would keep herself and her companions alive. It was a sacred trust, not a chore.

"So, what are we going to do in the afternoons instead?" she asked cheerfully.

"I am going to ask Khelgar to teach me armor smithing," he replied.

"I can shoe a horse," Shandra said eagerly.

"A useful skill," Casavir approved. "If you can doctor them as well, you might do well for yourself. The horse-traders here in the Docks are always looking for help in getting their beasts fit for auction."

"That's a thought," Shandra said slowly, "but maybe I can learn smithing with you..."

"I have not yet asked Khelgar if he will allow one apprentice," he replied. "Though perhaps, if the forge is large enough, he might allow two. Still, it is not his smithy. He might refuse both of us."

"There he is," Shandra said. "Why don't you ask him?"

"Shortly," the paladin said. Khelgar would be hungry, and the dwarf would be much more amenable to any idea Casavir might put before him after he had taken the edge off his morning appetite.

Khelgar waved greetings and brought his own breakfast to the table. The dwarf, it seemed, had no fear of exercising on a full stomach. Besides a vat of porridge, he held a heaping platter of sausages. He set both down and went back to the bar for a large tankard of beer. Casavir's mouth watered at the smell of the sausages.

_Later,_ he reminded his rumbling stomach. He tried to appease it with a little more of his own porridge. Gods, how he hated the stuff. He had eaten little else for the first five years of his life, when his family had money to eat at all, and his time as a novice had been little different, although there, at least, he got meat and vegetables to go with his gruel. Still, it was better than going hungry, so he ate it and did not complain.

Shandra skewered one of Khelgar's sausages.

"Get your own, wench!" he snarled. Casavir almost laughed. The dwarf had a kind heart, despite his gruffness, for everyone that did not try to get between him and his food. Neeshka was the only one who might take such liberties with him and expect to get away with it.

"Fine!" Shandra laughed, and went to the bar for her own plate.

Casavir watched the dwarf eat in silence. Shandra returned with a plate of bacon and mushrooms and a slab of thickly buttered bread. Casavir turned toward the door and tried not to breathe. The smell of his favorite foods was almost too much to bear.

At last, when Khelgar had nearly finished his breakfast, he spoke.

"Khelgar," he said, "how goes your smithing with Thorla?"

"Not bad," Khelgar replied. "Just finishing up an axe today. Thought I might see if I can get Sand to enchant it for me. They're worth more when they're magical."

"Glad to hear it," Casavir said. "Is there enough room for both of you to work the forge? It must be cramped."

"A bit," the dwarf admitted. "She's got a kind of pavilion out back, though. It's got no walls, but it does have a roof. Right now, she's just using it to store coal and stock, but I was thinking about making her an offer, if she's willing to lease it, that is. Might need to see if there's a local lad who wants to learn a bit about smithing, though. I'll need somebody to work the bellows."

"Hey, we're in luck, Cas!" Shandra said. "We were just going to ask you if you were willing to teach us blacksmithing."

"Both of you?" Khelgar asked skeptically. "Aren't you two supposed to be training?"

"Kayla's letting us have our afternoons off," Shandra said.

"That might work," Khelgar nodded. "I could help Cas in the morning, and the pair of you could fetch and carry for me all afternoon. Well, you'd learn smithing, too, but you've got to learn how to keep the fire at the right temperature before you can pick up a hammer. Just do me a favor and let me talk to Thorla. She'll probably be all for renting out the space, and she won't mind another forge on the property, since it won't exactly be competition for her. She makes hinges and fittings for the nobs up in Blacklake, for the most part, though she'll do a trophy piece or two, if the fit takes her. What she won't like is the fact that neither one of you is a dwarf, but maybe I can work on her a bit."

"Thank you, Khelgar," Casavir said.

"Don't thank me yet," he grunted, "she hasn't said yes. But I'll go talk to her now, and maybe I'll have good news for you at lunch."

Khelgar left, and Casavir and Shandra were left to finish their breakfasts.

"I wanted to go out later and get some new clothes," Shandra said suddenly. "Any chance you could show me around?"

"I thought you already went shopping," Casavir said, after a sip of his beer.

"I did," she said, "but it's getting warmer, so I need some lightweight stuff for summer. Maybe later this afternoon? I'll treat you to dinner somewhere."

"If Khelgar does not need us to purchase equipment after break, we may go then," he replied, "but I must be back by mid-afternoon."

"Oh?" Shandra's eyebrows shot up. "What are you doing?"

"I have an engagement this evening," he answered calmly.

He felt Shandra's eyes on him. He glanced at her, and then quickly looked away. Something about her expression made him uneasy.

"You know she likes Cormick, don't you?" she asked, after a pause.

"Why would you say that?" Casavir asked, successfully keeping his tone level.

"They're always together," Shandra shrugged. "And it isn't you he's coming to see every other day. Besides, I don't think she really worked late last night."

"Her affairs are none of your concern," he said as calmly as he could, "nor are they mine. They were friends before she met either of us, and they have much Watch business to discuss."

"Maybe they get around to that sometimes," Shandra said.

"I will not hear her maligned," Casavir said firmly. "If you wish me to lead you to the clothing shops, I will do so, but I will not sit here and listen to you slander our leader. Now, if you are done eating, we should go out to the practice yard. It is nearly mid-morning, and we are far behind."

* * *

Shandra stared at the paladin's back as he walked toward the door to the courtyard.

"I'll be right there!" she called after him. "My shield is still up in my room."

"I shall wait outside," he said.

He was being such a clod, today, Shandra thought. He was never very talkative, but usually, he was at least a friendly lump sitting silently at the dinner table. She should probably not have baited him like that.

It wasn't fair, she knew. Kayla had been really kind to her, and, except for the time when she was worried about Casavir's head, and the time she denied her relationship with him, she had been a friend to her, as well. Still, maybe she was doing Kayla a favor, in trying to distract the attention of somebody she didn't want. Kayla said there was nothing between them, and she had certainly sounded sincere about it.

Shandra told herself that she said what she did at breakfast to spare Casavir the hurt of finding out the hard way that Kayla didn't love him. Regardless of what Kayla said about their relationship, he did look like he was falling for her. It wasn't anything obvious, and sometimes, Shandra thought she might be mistaken, but he hung on her every word, and at the dance, he had turned Shandra down only to ask Kayla to dance not two candles later.

_I don't get it,_ Shandra thought. _He's a paladin, so maybe he's supposed to fall in love with princesses, or something, but Kayla's a farmer, just like me. Er... no, she's a cleric, really, but she came from a mud-hole even more obscure than Highcliff. And she isn't even all that pretty. All right, maybe her face is all right... Ah, he's right. I shouldn't go slamming her like that just because he'd rather spend the evening with her than with me._

_And what do I want him for, anyway? He isn't even good company, really. Grobnar's a lot more fun to be around... but Grobnar couldn't possibly look that good naked, and he's a gnome... Even if he was well equipped, you could only ask so much of a gnome. Ew, I'm actually standing here thinking about this. Ick. Think about something else, quick, before my face freezes like this. Cas, naked... in bed... with me... Still, you have to talk about something, once you get out of the sack, and Cas just doesn't like to talk. Besides, uptight as he is, he'd probably be lousy in bed. Kayla can have him._

She was still in her room, and Cas had been waiting for her a good quarter candle by now, and he was in a bad mood already.

_Beshaba's breath, he's going to be a real slave driver today,_ Shandra moaned. She picked up her shield and trudged out to face her punishment.


	32. Why Should It Be So Complicated?

_Disclaimer: Obsidian owns everyone but Kayla and assorted shopkeepers._

* * *

As usual, Casavir had Shandra start out on pell practice. He would call the shot, and she would swing at the wooden pole in the approximate area he called. If he called for a head shot, she would aim high, if he called for a leg, she would aim low, and if he called for a body shot, she would aim somewhere in between.

"Wait for it!" he barked. She was anticipating his calls, and was already swinging when he spoke. "Now, leg!"

This continued for a quarter candle, perhaps. Casavir saw the groom emerge from the stable, which had its entrance on the courtyard.

"Hold!" he called. Shandra hit the pell in the head.

"Pay attention, Shandra!" he said sternly. "I said 'hold' not 'head.' When someone enters the courtyard, I will call a hold, just like every other day. I do not want you to swing. I do not want you to block. I want you to stand there perfectly still until I say 'lay on.'"

"All right, already!" she said. He could hear the exasperation in her voice, but this was important. He had seen a man maimed because his opponent had failed to cease fighting when a hold was called.

"All right now," Casavir said, "the groom has left the courtyard, but he will return through that gate again in a few moments, so be ready for me to call a hold again. Lay on. Head."

When the groom returned, Shandra stopped on cue. Casavir had seen enough of her form this morning to realize that she was not at her best today. She was sluggish and inattentive. Perhaps it was the promised liberty this afternoon, but the reason did not really matter. They would use wooden swords, today, just to be safe.

"You sure are grumpy today," Shandra observed when he thrust the hilt of the wooden sword at her.

"Yes," he agreed. "Now, we will practice the eight basic attacks, first. I will call the number, and you will use it to attack me. Ready?"

She nodded.

"I cannot hear you!" he barked.

"Yes, I'm ready!" she snapped. "Who put lye in your porridge?"

"Seven!" he called, then blocked the shot. If Shandra was inattentive today, he was irritable. He told himself that he had to be firm with her, that he was actually being far kinder to her than his weapons master would have been to him. It was true, really. Had he continued an attack after a hold was called, he would have had four lashes, at least. Had he failed to answer a direct question with a clearly articulated verbal response, old Master Donal would have boxed his ear. But he had trained in the discipline of the cloister, not the side courtyard of an inn. Still, Mastar Donal had been harsh with him because it was necessary for him to be so, for his own safety, as well as his classmates'.

He had a headache, as well. He should have risked a bigger breakfast.

The gate to the street opened.

"Hold!" Casavir shouted. Shandra's wooden sword struck his pauldron, above the shield he had lowered when he called the halt.

"What is the matter with you?" he yelled, bearing down on her. "Did you not hear me call the hold?"

"Easy, Cas!" she gasped, backing away from him.

"I may not be easy, Shandra," he said. "I may not even let you out of this courtyard until you learn to stop fighting when someone calls a hold. I do not want to yell at you. I want to have a pleasant, mutually beneficial practice where we both get some exercise and you learn a little more about using your weapon. I cannot do that if I have to worry about you knocking my brains out the breathing holes of my helmet. Do I make myself clear?"

"Did I come at a bad time?" Casavir heard Khelgar ask.

"No," Casavir replied wearily. "We can use a break. What brings you back here, Khelgar? I know that it cannot be noon already."

"It isn't," Khelgar replied, "but I have some good news for you. Thorla has agreed to lease the building behind her smithy, and what's better, it already has a brick forge there. All it needs is a bellows to be fully operational."

"Splendid news, Khelgar," Casavir said, "but I am no longer certain we can avoid practice for at least part of this afternoon."

"What seems to be the problem?" the dwarf asked.

"Cas is constipated," Shandra quipped.

Casavir ignored her.

"We are having a communication problem, today," he said. "I say 'hold,' and Shandra hears 'lay on'."

"I'll say that's a problem!" Khelgar agreed. "Take somebody's arm off, that way."

"Yeesh! I'm sorry, all right?" Shandra rolled her eyes. "It was an accident."

"Tell you what," Khelgar said. "I'll act as marshal, and keep an eye on the gates and the doors, and maybe I'll yell 'hold' every once in a while just to see if you're paying attention."

"Thank you," Casavir agreed.

For a while, it looked like the plan was working. The groom came out of the stables again, and Shandra stopped when she was supposed to stop. The porter came out into the courtyard, and again, Shandra halted.

Casavir saw something move in his peripheral vision.

"Hold!" he heard Khelgar shout. He lowered his shield, and pain exploded in his groin. He fell to the ground, clutching himself, and curled into a protective ball. For the third time that morning, he thought he would vomit. Shandra's blow had caught him square in the balls.

As suddenly as the pain erupted, it was gone. He lay there on the flagstones, and nothing at all hurt. He sighed in relief and opened his eyes. The Lady's face was before him. She must have healed him.

"Are you all right?" she asked him, still concerned.

"Yes," he answered, sitting up. Embarrassment burned in his cheeks. "Thank you."

"I'm sorry, Cas!" Shandra gasped. "I didn't hear Khelgar."

"We are done here, today," Casavir said disapprovingly.

"Look, Cas," she pleaded, "I'm sorry about that. I'll do better, if you want to keep going this afternoon, I promise."

"No," Casavir sighed, "neither one of us is at our best, today. It would be wiser to just let it go and start again the day after tomorrow, when we are both more focused."

He got to his feet. The Lady picked up her basket and looked up at him.

"Are you all right?" she asked again.

"Yes," he replied. "I am hungry, and Shandra is distracted, but both may be remedied. Why have you returned so early?"

"I took the afternoon off," she answered. "We were slow today. I'll have to check in with the Watch posts one more time later this afternoon, but there was no reason for me to stay at the office. I brought you something."

She passed him the basket. Strawberries.

"Where did you find these?" he asked breathlessly. "The season should not begin for another tenday, at least!"

"There was a farm cart in the Merchant District that had them," she explained. "I wondered at the season, too, but he said he had a south-facing slope and mild weather, and the strawberries came early, this year. You do like them, don't you?"

"Very much!" His mouth watered in anticipation. "But I should probably eat something else before I have fruit."

"Let's go in," she said. "Sal will be done taking breakfast orders, but maybe he'll let me use his hearth to make you something. You didn't get any dinner last night, so you must be starving. What do you want?"

"Sausages," he answered quickly, "and bread and bacon... and mushrooms."

"You are hungry!" she laughed, and held the door open for him. "In you go. I'll go talk to Sal."

It felt like noontime, so Casavir went back to his room to make his devotions while The Lady wheedled the barkeep. He had extra penance for his intoxication the night before, though today was not a high holy day, so his prayers were not overlong to begin with. When he returned half a candle later, she was just bringing out a platter piled high with everything he had asked for, in quantities greater than he could ever consume.

"I made a bit extra," she said. "Khelgar can always eat, and I'm a bit hungry, too. Shandra?"

"Oh, I'm still full from breakfast, but thanks anyway," she said. Maybe that was her problem, Casavir reflected. Training on a full stomach was rarely beneficial.

A half candle later, Casavir felt completely restored. He had saved room for her gift, but he had forgotten to thank her. He leaned across the table and kissed her cheek. She kissed his, in return, smiling.

"What's that all about?" Shandra asked.

"It's a custom where I grew up," The Lady explained. "If somebody gives you something, you kiss their cheek. If they're a friend, they kiss you back."

"Oh," Shandra said. "So, Khelgar, are we going to do any smithing today?"

"Nah," Khelgar answered. "Thorla's just agreed to let us use the shed, and she's clearing some rubbish away from the forge. We've still got to buy a bellows, and hook it up, and you and Cas will need tools. You'll buy a pair of hammers apiece, light and heavy, and hot chisels and a pair of tongs. If you need more tools than that, you'll make them. You won't start forging stuff you want until you've made tools to do the job. Works out well, that way. Making the tools will give you the practice you need to make what you want to make. You're going for armor, Cas?"

"I thought I would, yes," the paladin replied.

"Then you'll need a plenishing ball, too," the dwarf replied, "and some fullers, and probably a set of cold chisels, as well, and tin snips. All that gear will be hardened, and we'll have no way to do that in Thorla's shed, so you'll have to buy it. Don't worry. You'll still have plenty of tools to make to get your striking arm in shape. I've already got two anvils... though now that I think on it, that won't do at all for you two. We'll need two more."

"Why's that?" Shandra asked. "Are your anvils too good for us?"

"Nah," Khelgar dismissed the thought, "it's a height thing. If you stand next to an anvil with your arm at your side, your knuckles should just graze the face. You and Cas are probably close enough in height so we can go with his measure, and you'll just have to take shorter strokes, but my anvils will be too low for either of you to use. Iron's cheap, right now, so I reckon a hundred gold will get us everything we need, and a new fire pot for the forge, as well. I'm sure Duncan will have an empty barrel or two we can use. We'll need one for tempering and one for oiling. If we have any extra, I want to get another anvil for myself. They have some new ones out, with horns on the front. Makes it a hell of a lot easier to do curved pieces."

"It's like watching a child in a confectioner's!" The Lady laughed.

"You should see what they have, at the auctions!" Khelgar beamed. "Fullers to do any damned thing, and tongs in every shape. But we'll be getting round-nosed tongs for you two. You'll use the flat-nosed ones more, for the work you'll be doing, but I want you to make those yourself, and to do that, you'll need the round-nosed ones to grip the bar stock. Oh, and we'll need hardened punches, and rivets, but that's small change. We can even make the rivets, if we have to, but why bother, cheap as they are?"

"You can buy your gear out of party treasure," The Lady said magnanimously, "since I know you're just dumping everything you make into the group fund, anyway, Khelgar. You can keep some of that out for yourself, you know."

"I don't need it," he shrugged, "but thanks. No point shopping today, since Thorla won't have space for anything we buy until tomorrow."

"You wanted to go shopping, Shandra?" Casavir reminded her.

"Er... yeah, but you don't have to take me," she responded. "I think I remember my way to the clothing merchant."

"I'm going shopping myself," The Lady said. "Why don't we go together? Besides, you'll need a gown that isn't Qara's cast-off at some point, so we can get you one of them, too."

"Thanks!" Shandra accepted her invitation with apparent eagerness. Her change in heart baffled Casavir. That very morning, she had slandered The Lady shamefully, and now, she was all ease and friendliness? It made no sense.

"Say, Cas," Khelgar said, "what do you say we go to the river and drown some worms?"

"A splendid idea," Casavir agreed eagerly.

"Right," the dwarf rumbled. "You get our fishing gear, I'll get us a jug of Duncan's finest.

* * *

Kayla smiled as the men gathered up their gear to go fishing. Casavir loved to fish, she knew, though they had little enough opportunity for it while they traveled. Still, since they had been in Neverwinter, Khelgar and Casavir, and sometimes Kayla or Neeshka, had gone fishing every chance they got. If they caught enough for to feed them, Sal would let Kayla cook it up, and they would eat well for a night.

Not that they needed to worry about what to do with anything they caught now. Fish fed in the morning and in the evening, not in the middle of the day. Still, it was an excuse for two men to spend an afternoon sitting by the river, not saying much of anything, drinking ale and watching the world go by. It made her happy, somehow, to think that Casavir would be spending his afternoon like that, doing something that he enjoyed.

"So what are you going to buy?" Shandra asked.

"I need a new dress," Kayla said, blushing.

"For going out courting with Cas?" Shandra prompted.

"No!" Kayla protested, then calmed a bit. "Er... I'll probably wear it tonight, but we aren't courting, and I can't afford to buy gowns I'll only wear once. Speaking of dresses, I'd better go change, and so should you. It's a pain in the neck, taking your armor off every time you want to try on a gown and then putting it back on when you're done. You should probably wear that rag of Qara's."

They separated, then met in the common room a quarter candle later. They went to the haberdasher's first, since it would not take long to buy Shandra two linen tunics and a pair of lightweight leggings.

"Where are you going to go for dinner tonight?" Shandra asked.

"I have no idea," Kayla said, perplexed. "That's the one part that bothers me. I don't know my way around the city at all. The only two places I know that have good food are the Moonstone Mask and the Hart and Hind. We can't eat at the Mask because it would give Cas fits and we can't eat at the Hart because Cormick lives there."

"What's going on between you and Cormick?" Shandra asked suddenly.

"We're friends," Kayla said firmly. "He's from West Harbor, too, and we're in the Watch together."

"Like you're friends with Cas?" Shandra asked innocently.

"Er... no," she admitted. "Not like that at all, really."

"So in other words, you really are just friends with Cormick," Shandra said.

"Yes," Kayla agreed. "I'm friends with Casavir, too, but... well, it's hard to explain."

"Tell me about it!" Shandra laughed. Kayla suddenly felt much better. She had not wanted to admit that she was jealous of Shandra, but her comment outside the well-house had bothered her. Shandra had all but said outright that she intended to pursue him. Kayla would not have stood in her way, but she did not want to lose him... not that she had him.

It was all too confusing. One of these days, she would have to figure out exactly what her feelings toward him were, but not today. Today, she would buy a dress, take a bath, and figure out where they would have dinner.

"So... do you know any places to eat in Neverwinter?" she asked Shandra.

"I haven't been anywhere but the Flagon," Shandra said. "But why not make a picnic of it? It's a warm afternoon, and it looks like it's going to be a warm night. Get some portable food, a bottle of wine, and a blanket and have your dinner at the park."

"That's a good idea!" Kayla grinned. He would like that, she thought. "So now that that's settled, and you've got your tunics, lets get us some dresses."

The moon elf at the dressmakers looked both women up and down once they asked for his help choosing dresses.

"Which one of you wants to go first?" he asked archly.

"You go," Kayla urged Shandra.

"I don't want anything too fancy," Shandra said immediately.

"Heavens forbid," the elf rolled his eyes. "It tears my heart to see some of the frocks the ladies of this town parade around in, with feathers and gems, and Seldarine know what. Clean, elegant lines, a tasteful fabric, and a flattering color are all the adornment any woman needs, if you ask me."

"You and I are going to get along just fine," Shandra announced. "So what do you recommend?"

"Hmmm," he mused, "do you have a preference as to fabric? I have some lovely silks, just in..."

"Silk is a little too grand for me..." Shandra hesitated.

"It will get you through any season of the year, though," Kayla said. "And it isn't anywhere near as expensive as that cotton they're getting in from Chult."

"How about a nice, lightweight wool?" Shandra suggested. "If it's light enough, I can still wear it in all but the dead of winter, and it doesn't really get that cold in Neverwinter."

"It's your choice, of course," the elf said, "but if you have an eye for cost, some of the finer-gauge wools are even more costly than the silks. I understand that it is more difficult to spin the yarn out that fine, and warping the loom is a real chore. For example, this woolen gown is nearly twice the cost of this silk one, and really, the color is so much richer in the silk. It suits you, too, I think. Mulberry is a good color, for blondes."

"Can we afford this?" Shandra asked Kayla in a whisper. Kayla nodded.

"I'll try it on," Shandra said.

"Now, while your friend is trying on her gown, what can I get for you?"

"I'm looking for something elegant, but practical," Kayla said. "Er... can you suggest something that isn't yellow, brown or green? Just about everything I have is that."

"How about this?" he asked, holding up another silk gown. Kayla could not decide if the color would be called a beige-ish rose or a rosy beige.

"Will it go with my hair?" she asked.

"As well as anything, my dear," he gave an odd kind of half-shrug. "It won't look horrible with it, and it will set off your complexion beautifully. And you need not fear that the gown will not launder. You would be astonished how well this fabric holds up."

"I'm not so sure about that neckline..." she mused. "It's kind of deep, don't you think?"

"If I had your skin, I'd go naked," the elf replied.

"Cas would like that," Shandra called over the top of the screen.

"Quiet, you!" Kayla scolded her. "All right, I'll try it on after Shandra shows me her gown."

It did suit her, Kayla admitted with mild envy. Shandra had a generous figure, and the gown showed it off to best advantage. Still, there was nothing Kayla could do about her own, so there was no point in begrudging Shandra the chance to look good.

Once Shandra approved the choice and changed back into her regular clothes, they picked out a cornflower blue linen gown for her in the same size, for everyday wear, and Kayla went behind the screen to change. The gown fit, and both Shandra and the shopkeeper approved, so she bought it. They had all three gowns sent to the Flagon, and set out to make their final purchases, food for the picnic.

Kayla had intended to just buy one of those roasted chickens, like Duncan had ordered for Greengrass, but they passed a fish monger crying "Fresh prawns! Not two candles off the boat! Cleaned and steamed while you wait!" and Kayla changed her mind. She had not had prawns since she left West Harbor, and that was just the thing, after their hearty lunch. Ordinarily, they ate only two meals a day, breakfast and dinner, but today, they had added another one, so a heavy dinner was the last thing she wanted. She rounded out the meal with fresh bread from the baker, and soft, creamy cheese from the dairy man, and more strawberries from the farmer with the south-facing plot. She also bought some half-grown peas that the farmer billed as so tender you could eat them pod and all. Kayla had been skeptical of that, but he let her try one, and she immediately bought them.

"Nothing left but the wine," Shandra said. "I think there's a wine seller around the corner. Maybe he can recommend something nice."

As it happened, he could, but Kayla and Shandra still spent a pleasant candle sampling his stock. They tried everything from apple wine to mead, but in the end, they agreed that the pale, almost fizzy wine he first recommended might go the best with the prawns, costly though it was. By the time they left his shop, both women were a little giggly, but Kayla still had several candles to get herself cleaned up and ready for her evening out with Casavir.

"So," Shandra asked slyly, "how far are you going to let him get?"

"He can't," Kayla answered, blushing.

"What do you mean, he can't?" Shandra stared at her. "I mean, I hit him in the stones today... sorry about that... and he sure acted like everything worked, and I saw him in the bath, so I know he's got a... er... you know."

"He can't indulge just for the sake of indulging," Kayla explained. "It's part of his vows, I think. He's allowed to marry, though, so maybe it's allowed then, but I'm not interested in bedding him... I can't believe I just said that."

"So, you just bought a gown, a nice dinner, and a really expensive bottle of wine for somebody you don't want to sleep with?" Shandra rolled her eyes.

"Of course I want to sleep with him," Kayla sighed. "Wouldn't you? Er... never mind. It's complicated. The thing is, I enjoy his company, and I know that we'll have a pleasant evening, even if we don't wind up in bed."

"Wait... you like how quiet he is?" Shandra sounded surprised.

"He isn't always quiet," Kayla said. "He talks as much as anybody else, if he wants to. Last night, he and Cormick were up until nearly midnight, chatting away. He was drunk at the time, though."

"He gets drunk?" Shandra laughed. "It sounds like I miss all the fun."

"Well, you'll have plenty of chances to ply him with drink another time," Kayla chuckled. "Part of the reason I had you cut back on the training was so that he could stay awake longer in the evening."

"I like a challenge," Shandra said.

"Well, I'll have my own challenge right now," Kayla said suddenly, looking at the sun. It was sinking toward the horizon. "I've got two candles, maybe three, and my hair takes forever to dry. Let's go back to the Flagon."

* * *

Khelgar set his fishing pole down and took another pull from his jug. He offered it to the paladin, but he waved it away. Khelgar shrugged and took another drink.

"So, what was Shandra's problem today?" Khelgar asked.

"I could not tell you," Cas shook his head. "I was as puzzled by it as you. She hit her marks, and her form was acceptable, but her mind was elsewhere."

"You were too soft with her," Khelgar scowled. "You can't baby her like that. Why, my da would have knocked the grit out of my ears if I'd pulled half what you let her get away with."

"Master Donal would have been no less firm with me, I assure you," Cas said. "Yet that does not work with Shandra. She rebels against it. I wish I knew how to get through to her."

"Lala was never that difficult," Khelgar sighed. No, that girl was a pleasure to teach. And it wasn't just because she fancied Cas, either. It didn't matter whether she went against Cas or himself, or even Grobnar, Lala paid attention, and did what she was told. She'd picked up knife fighting in just a couple days, as a result of it.

"The Lady has discipline that Shandra lacks," Cas agreed. Khelgar raised an eyebrow at that. The paladin never used her name, at least not in Khelgar's hearing, and that was plenty odd, but he treated her well, so he couldn't complain. If he wanted to call her Queen Slender Toes, Khelgar couldn't be fussed, as long as he didn't start being a jackass again.

"How's things between the two of you?" he asked. "You don't see much of each other anymore."

"We are meeting this evening," the paladin said. His face went a bit red over that.

"Glad to hear it," Khelgar approved. "You should take her to the park. There's a beauty of a rock formation there, gotta be twenty feet tall, and the mica in the rock catches the torchlight a treat... Moradin's manhood, I think I've got a nibble."

Khelgar pulled his fish to the bank, unhooked it, and threw it back.

"How's a dwarf supposed to do any proper fishing if the damn things keep taking the bait?" he grumbled.

"We could have eaten that," Cas pointed out.

"You weren't going to eat at the Flagon tonight, were you?" Khelgar blinked.

"Should we not?" he asked.

"Nah," Khelgar rolled his eyes and took another gulp from the jug. He passed it to the paladin, who accepted it, this time. "You should take her someplace posh. Neesh took me to the Mask one night, and the food was first rate. The ale wasn't bad, either, and that was a real eye opener. Nobby place like that, you'd expect nothing but that flowery stuff the ladies like."

"You brought a lady to the Moonstone Mask?" the paladin gasped.

"I went with Neesh, if that's what you mean," he shrugged. "It isn't like it was, Neesh says, however that was. They looked at us funny, but you'd expect that, when a dwarf and a tiefling walk into a bar. Still, they make you feel welcome enough, once you show them your gold."

"Is it still a festhall?" Cas asked.

"Well, yeah," Khelgar admitted, "but there's food and dancing, now, too. From what I saw, if you want private entertainment, you have to talk to Teela."

"I will not bring her there," the paladin said firmly.

Khelgar shrugged.

"Guess you'll just have to work that out when the time comes," he said.

They fished in silence for a while, passing the jug back and forth until it was empty. Khelgar broke the wax seal on the second. That, too, was half gone before Khelgar spoke again.

"What do you think of Shandra?" he asked.

"She makes me uneasy," Cas said.

"Oh?"

"Forgive me, Khelgar, I mean no disrespect," he sighed.

"Save your manners for your lady," the dwarf grunted. "We're sitting here sharing a jug, and you should know what that means from your friend Callum."

"She is too... forward," the paladin said at last.

"So tell her to leave you alone." Why did they always have to make it so difficult?

"I shall, if she persists," Cas shook his head. "I thought that honest people did not play that game."

"What game is that?" Khelgar took another pull from the jug.

"Tempt the Paladin," Cas said.

"Shandra isn't after you because you're a paladin, fool," Khelgar rolled his eyes again. They'd fall out of their sockets, at this rate. "You do own a mirror, don't you?"

"Of course I do," the paladin said, reaching for the jug. Khelgar handed it over. "Ladies are not driven by anything so base."

Khelgar's eyes made one more trip around their orbits.

"Is that what they tell you at paladin school?" he laughed. "They're worse than men, if you ask me."

Cas bristled at that. He looked like he was about to say something angry, so Khelgar cut him off.

"Believe what you want," he said, "but they're people, same as you or I. Now, you humans spend altogether too much time thinking about what's between your legs, but I suppose that's only natural. You don't live very long, so you've got to breed young, and often."

"I will not listen to this," the paladin said sharply.

"Sorry, Cas," Khelgar sighed. There was no helping some people. He should just follow the advice he was always giving Neesh, and just leave it to them to sort it out themselves. "So what did you think of that gadget Nobby made?"

"I dare not go near it," Cas answered. "It looks unstable."

"So's Nobby," Khelgar grunted. "Still, it keeps him quiet."

They looked at the river again. Cas caught another fish, but he threw it back. The second jug was half gone, already. Khelgar regretted that he had not brought a third.

"Great Tyr, is that the time?" the paladin said suddenly, jumping to his feet. "Forgive me, Khelgar, but I should return to the Flagon now."

"It's still two candles to sunset, at least!" Khelgar protested.

"I need a bath," Cas said, "and a shave."

"How many times do I have to tell you, Cas? Women like a man with a healthy beard."

But Khelgar was already gathering their gear. He knew that tone, and who was he to keep a man from doing what he thought he had to do to get what he wanted? Too bad the poor sod hadn't quite figured out what exactly that was.


	33. Floating with the Current

_Disclaimer: Everyone but Kayla, Madam Mina and Tilly are on loan from Obsidian. I don't plan to return them any time soon, but perhaps they won't mind._

* * *

Shandra stared into the depths of her tankard. With Kayla upstairs preening for her evening with Cas, Neeshka off making arrows, Elanee at Sand's shop making potions, and Khelgar and Grobnar behind the bar, trying to fix whatever it was Grobnar broke, she had nothing better to do. Casavir was upstairs getting ready, too.

She still felt bad about their practice session that morning. The shot to his groin had been the crowning indignity of what had already been a frustrating morning. She was trying. Why couldn't he see that? But no, he just barked orders and reprimands at her like all this was second nature to her. That, too, was her fault, he seemed to feel. Her distraction probably was. She had been so busy trying to find flaws in him, she barely paid attention to a word he said. She just couldn't win.

It had been easy enough, saying she didn't want him, and she'd even managed to fake some enthusiasm over Kayla's plans for the evening, but it was harder to let go of her attraction to him.

Still, why go where you aren't wanted? From the sound of things, he was a different man around Kayla. Kayla brought out the best in him, whereas Shandra only brought out the worst. That told her all she needed to know about where his desires lay, even if they both denied it. Why should he spend time with someone who only made him angry when there was someone so near who made him smile?

What made things worse was that she was still a burden to everybody. She was the waif that had to be rescued, the stupid pupil that needed extra lessons, the parasite that needed to be fed, clothed and sheltered. It hurt her pride, especially because she deserved it. Kayla herself had been in Shandra's place only eight months before, but a month and a half into Kayla's journey, she was already leading her group with confidence, not bashing her weapons teacher in the nuts.

She owed him an apology for her sloppy behavior that morning. No time like the present. His bath had not been sent up yet, so he would still be decent.

His door was unlocked, so she opened it and went in.

He stood with his back to her, naked except for a pair of smalls, holding each of his tunics up to himself in turn and studying his reflection in his shaving mirror. An achy tugging sensation in her nethers reminded her that she was most definitely not over her attraction to him. His back was broad and muscular, and if she was going to sculpt a statue representing male beauty, she would certainly give it his ass.

He held a violet tunic in one hand, and his blue doublet in the other. He would hold one up to himself, and then the other, as if he could not decide.

"Go with the blue one," Shandra heard herself say.

* * *

On returning from fishing with Khelgar, Casavir ordered his bath and asked for a barber, then went directly to his room. He undressed and shaved with even more than his usual care. He might have called for a haircut, but he had yet to meet a barber-surgeon who could shave him better than he could do himself. When he was satisfied, he put his razor aside, and pulled all his tunics out of his clothing chest.

None of them looked right. Their plans for the evening were informal, but The Lady was paying him a special honor. His attire for the evening should reflect his appreciation for the gift she was giving him with her presence. He took his doublet out of the chest. It was more formal than an outing on the river might warrant, but it was warm enough that he would need no cloak, though he would bring one anyway, in case The Lady was chilled, and it was easily the best garment he owned. Still, he was reluctant to appear too... courtly. He would not risk offending her by allowing her to think he dared woo her, like some irreverent youth out to take advantage of her generous nature. She had offered him her company, nothing more. If he harbored baser inclinations toward her, he must master them, and treat her with the respect she deserved.

He sighed. He had one and thirty winters, and _still_ he knew not how to dress himself.

He held up the purple tunic, his favorite, and then his doublet, then repeated the procedure several times. Why could he not have thought of something more elegant for them to do, that might justify wearing the doublet?

"Go with the blue one," said a woman's voice, behind him.

He spun, clutching both tunic and doublet against his body in an attempt to cover himself. There was only one woman who might intrude on the sanctuary of his bedroom, and he most certainly did not want frighten her with his nakedness... though it had not sounded like The Lady...

It was not The Lady.

Shandra stood in front of him, looking startled... and fascinated.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded. He felt his anger rising, though he fought it.

"I'm sorry, Cas..." she muttered. "Your door was unlocked, so I... anyway, I just wanted to apologize for being so dense, this morning."

He could do nothing but blink at her. She had invaded his bedchamber, when she knew he would be preparing for an engagement that evening, no less, and had walked right in as if she owned the inn. And now, she was staring at his groin.

He looked down. No, he was covered, and he was not roused. He had been standing with his back to the door, so she must have been staring at his buttocks. He flinched in distaste. What Khelgar said of women could not be true of The Lady, certainly, but under Shandra's lustful gaze, he might well believe it of her. It was time for him to follow Khelgar's advice and ask her to desist... though perhaps he should put on some clothing first.

"You must leave at once," he said sternly, though he was pleased that he did not shout. "I will find you in the common room later. I wish to speak with you of a private matter, though it is an important one."

"Er... yes," she stammered, "I'll... er... wait for you downstairs."

She opened the door and nearly collided with Duncan.

_Gods, no, not her uncle_... Casavir's mind recoiled in shock.

"Shandra?" Duncan blinked. "What are you doing in here?"

Shandra pushed past him and ran down the hall.

"Will somebody tell me what's going on?" The Lady's uncle demanded. "You call for a barber, it won't wait until the afternoon rush dies down because you're going out walking with my niece this evening, and when I get here, you're entertaining Shandra in your all-together? You've got some explaining to do, lad."

"I am not naked," Casavir said, reddening, "though had I been, that would not have deterred her. I apologize, Duncan. I did not invite Shandra into my room. She found the door unlocked and walked in, much to my distress. I was sending her away when you arrived."

"Oh," Duncan no longer appeared angry, though he did look puzzled. "What did she want with you, and why hasn't she learned to knock?"

"I cannot answer your latter question," Casavir answered, "and I fear you would not like the answer to the first any more than I."

"Try me," Duncan said, sitting down and folding his arms across his chest.

"I believe that Shandra might have developed a slight... infatuation," Casavir prayed that such a vague answer would be enough.

"I see," Duncan replied. "And I take it you don't return her interest?"

"Certainly not," Casavir said firmly. "I intend to put an end to any illusions she might have as soon as possible, but I thought it might be advisable to wait until I had bathed and dressed. Regardless of Shandra's unseemly behavior, I will not be late for my appointment with your niece."

"I'm sure Kayla will appreciate that," Duncan said uncomfortably. "Would you rather I talked to Shandra? Her heart's in the right place, I'm sure, but maybe she's a little confused."

"Thank you," Casavir replied, "but I should handle this myself... No, I will not be cruel to her, but I suspect that until she hears it from me directly, she will not believe it."

"You're probably right," Duncan shook his head. "So, are you ready for your haircut?"

He swallowed, suddenly reminded that he still wore nothing but his small clothes.

"Forgive me, Duncan," he asked tentatively, "but what did you just say?"

"You asked for a barber," Duncan shrugged. "I'm it."

"I was unaware that you cut hair," Casavir said, though he sat down to let the half-elf reach his head.

"Here at the Flagon, I do," Duncan said proudly. "Been cutting Sal's for years."

"Sal is bald," Casavir reminded him.

"Is he?" Duncan scratched his chin. "Funny how you see someone every day and never notice things like that, but it would explain why he hasn't asked for one lately. But he used to have hair, a great mop of it. He's been here since he was just a lad, you know."

"I shall trust your judgment." Casavir suppressed the irrational thought that perhaps Sal's baldness might have been the result of Duncan's barbering.

"Short and neat is no trouble at all," Duncan said, draping the towel across his shoulders. "So sit back and tell me what you're planning while I give you a trim."

"I do not know the particulars," he admitted. "She agreed to meet me this evening for a walk along the river. Forgive me, Duncan, but it is likely that we will be declining your hospitality at dinner this evening."

"So she said," Duncan sounded unperturbed.

"Has she given any indication of her plans?" Casavir asked.

"I think she means it to be a surprise," he answered.

"That does not tell me whether I should wear the doublet or the tunic," Casavir sighed.

"I'd go with the doublet, myself," Duncan suggested. "It'll go better with what she's w- ... never mind. You're all done."

He held the mirror for Casavir to inspect the results. For all that Duncan had been quick about it, it was a good haircut.

"Thank you," Casavir said. "You have done a fine job."

"You're welcome," Duncan beamed. "Your bath should be along momentarily to rinse off the clippings."

* * *

Shandra pulled herself another tankard of ale and watched the stair. Cas would be down soon. She wished she could redo the last half candle, but she would have to live with the consequences.

She sighed. He had been picking out his clothes like a woman might choose a gown for a special occasion. His evening with Kayla meant a lot to him. No, there was no ignoring it. Casavir might deny his affection for Kayla, but his actions made a liar of him.

He kept her waiting forever, it seemed. When he finally joined her at the table, she had all she could do to maintain her resolve to let him go. He looked too good for the Flagon, she'd say that.

She started to flag Qara down for an ale for him, but he stopped her.

"Thank you, but no," he said. "It is nearly time. Shandra, we must talk."

"I know," she muttered miserably.

"I am flattered by your attention," he said, "but I must ask you to desist."

"I know," she repeated. "Look, Cas, I'm sorry. I know you aren't interested, and neither am I, really, but I was for a while, and it's taking a while to get over it."

"Thank you for your candor," he said, after a pause. He looked at his hands, like he did not know what to say.

"I'll leave you alone, I promise," she said. "Sorry I was staring at you. You look awfully good without your clothes."

He did not respond to that with anything more than a blush. She couldn't blame him. What could he say?

Khelgar and Neeshka came in from the yard. Neeshka had a basket of what looked like arrows, and she seemed to be arguing with Khelgar about making points for them. They spotted her, and came over.

"You look nice, Cas!" Neeshka said, sitting down next to Shandra. "What's the occasion?"

Casavir cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable, so Shandra fielded the question.

"He's going out with Kayla tonight," she said.

"Really?" Neeshka squealed happily. Cyric's balls, even Neeshka wanted Kayla for Cas. "When did this happen? What did I miss?"

"We are going for a walk, Neeshka," Casavir said calmly. "That is all."

"Right," Neeshka giggled, "because I always put on my best tunic and get all prettied up to go for a walk. Don't you, Khelgar?"

"Stop flapping your jaws and get me an ale, fiendling," Khelgar grunted. Neeshka was still laughing, but she got up to get his drink. The dwarf harumphed and plopped down in a chair next to Casavir. He spread out a sheet of parchment in front of the paladin, but Casavir ignored it. Khelgar just rolled his eyes and waited for Neeshka to get back.

Casavir was looking at something. Shandra traced the direction of his gaze and found that he was looking intently at the stairs. She sighed, and watched his face, waiting to see his reaction to Kayla's arrival.

It was like watching a sunrise, she thought. One moment, he looked grim and forbidding, the next... for that one moment, he was not the stern taskmaster of their morning training session. He was younger, hopeful and eager. He might have been an angel, he was so changed.

She watched him rise and go to Kayla before she even reached the bottom of the stair.

* * *

Casavir could hardly breathe. She would be beautiful, he knew. She always was, he thought, even after a long day of riding or Watch duty, but tonight, she was radiant. He could not say the color of her gown, or even whether she wore a cloak, but he knew that she wore her hair loose tonight, and her face shone in the candlelight.

"My lady," he breathed, extending his hand to her. Her touch sent shocks through his body, but he bowed over her hand and kissed it, wishing he dared prolong the moment.

"Good evening, Casavir," she greeted him, blushing. "I hope I did not keep you waiting long..."

_Months_, his heart replied, though his lips framed a more suitable answer.

"Not at all, my lady," he heard himself say. "Shall we go?"

"Just a moment," she said. "I packed a picnic for us. I hope you don't mind."

Casavir could do no more than shake his head. His mind filled with the image of them sharing a blanket under the stars, and that pleasant vision drove away even his power of speech.

She left his side then, and went into the Flagon's kitchen. When she returned a moment later, Casavir had recovered some of his composure. He took the basket from her and offered her his arm.

"Shall we go to the park, my lady?" he asked, holding the door for her. "Khelgar thought we might like to see a boulder there, with mica that catches the light."

"Yes," she agreed, "and we can have our dinner there, so you don't have to spend all night carrying around a heavy basket."

"It is no burden, my lady," he assured her.

They walked in silence until they reached the gate to the Merchant District.

"My lady..." Casavir began, "may I ask you something?"

She looked at him curiously, but her voice was tranquil.

"Of course, Casavir," she said softly.

"What is mica?"

She laughed, for some reason Casavir could not fathom.

"You can ask Khelgar tomorrow," she chuckled, "unless we figure it out when we get there. You look very nice tonight, Casavir."

"As do you, my lady," he said awkwardly. Should he have made that observation back at the Flagon? If he had erred by omission, he would still have time to atone for it. They had the whole evening together. He was glad indeed.

* * *

The park was less empty than Kayla hoped it might be. She and Casavir, it seemed, were not the only people out to take advantage of the first truly warm night of the season. She had brought lamps, but they would not need them tonight. The park was lit with torches in cressets along the path, and scattered about the choicer picnic spots. Still, they found Khelgar's rock, and shared a laugh over how only a dwarf could be in raptures over a chunk of vaguely sparkly stone, and then Casavir found her a level spot where they might spread their blanket.

She made him sit while she set out their dinner, though he watched her, still. He was not speaking as much as he usually did when they were together, but he smiled more often, and there was something soft and indescribable about his eyes that made her very glad she had chosen the privacy of a picnic over a more public dining hall.

With their dinner spread on the blanket beside them, she poured the wine and handed him a cup. He waited until she filled her own before tasting it. His eyes opened wider at the bubbles, and his nose twitched like he was about to sneeze, but he stifled it, and choked as a result.

"There, there," she said, laughing, and wiped a drop of wine off his chin. His face was level with hers, while they were seated, and very close. His lips moved, and his hand rose to cradle her cheek. She held her breath.

His hand trembled, but he did not kiss her. Instead, the touch became a caress, and that, brief.

"Forgive me," he said. "I had expected a still wine."

"I might have warned you," she responded. "Do you like it, though? Apart from the coughing, I mean."

"Yes," he answered.

They spoke of nothing important while they ate, but Kayla was content. He declared that he loved prawns, and had rarely tasted any as fine as these, and that the wine was very good indeed, though it seemed to make him slightly giddy. He was almost merry, in fact, but it felt good to see him so happy.

At last, the meal ended, and they gathered the empty wrappings.

"You said you might teach me to make a parchment boat," he said at last.

"I haven't forgotten," she smiled. She took two squares of parchment out of the basket and put one on the blanket between them. "Watch carefully, now. I'll expect your own to be just as seaworthy as this, or better."

He watched her avidly as she made the folds, then made his own tidy little boat.

"I clep thee _Sunray_," Kayla laughed, and scribed an S on both sides of the paper sail. "What will you name yours, Cas?"

"The_ Lily_," he said, blushing, but he did not mark the paper. It was not necessary, really, if hers was marked. "If you will carry our fleet, I will fold the blanket and we may go to the Dolphin Bridge to launch our regatta."

They crouched on the riverbank by the Dolphin Bridge and placed the boats in the water. The summer had been dry, for the most part, and the river was sluggish. They might walk beside the river all the way to the harbor, if they chose, to see which boat stayed afloat the longest.

For a while, both boats bobbed along the river together, and they walked arm in arm following them, but Casavir's boat proved the more capable vessel, and Kayla's eventually swamped and capsized.

"Oh no!" Kayla cried in mock dismay. "The _Sunray_ is lost!"

"She was a worthy vessel," Casavir said solemnly, placing his hand over his heart, "and bravely captained. We shall honor her memory with a pastry from Madam Mina's cart. My lady, may I escort you thither?"

"Pastry, too?" she laughed. "You're getting as bad as Khelgar, Cas!"

"Ah," he nodded sagely, "but you have not yet tasted Madam Mina's pastry. She has had that same cart in the Merchant District since before I went to the temple, and while she usually closes up shop in the evenings, I spied her cart on the way down the river."

"It's almost like a festival night," she said. "So many of the merchants are still open, and street performers and bards on every corner."

"You have never been in Neverwinter in summer, my lady," he said. "Once the weather warms, every clear night is like a festival night. Even when I was a novice, I remember looking out the dormitory window and seeing the lights, and the people."

"You love the city, don't you, Cas?" she asked.

"Not the city, as such," he said. "I hate the crime, and the greed, and the pollution that spreads where so many gather. Say rather that I love the people. Were I ever to make a home, I would desire it to be a smaller place, but still vital, where people might live, work, and trade secure in the faith that their rulers cared more for their wellbeing than political machinations."

"Lord Nasher is no tyrant!" Kayla said with more heat than she intended.

"I did not say that he was," Casavir said calmly. "Yet Lord Nasher has many cares. He must look beyond the needs of individuals, and I dare not fault him for that. I say only that I would not live in Neverwinter. I would prefer a simpler life."

"I don't see myself living here, either, to tell the truth," she admitted. "Apart from Daeghun, I liked West Harbor. Everybody knew everybody else's business, but it was home, and some of the people meant a lot to me. But I told you about all that, already. It would probably bore you, but I liked tending scraped knees and anxious mothers with teething babies. Now that I've seen worse, I can finally understand what kept Brother Merring in West Harbor all those years."

"I told you once that I should like to go there, my lady," he said. "I wish it now, more than ever. Might we, do you think?"

"I would like you to see it," she said. "It isn't much, but it was home. I wish there was a way we could be there for Midsummer. That was the best holiday, after the Harvest Fair."

"Should you not rather go for that?" he asked.

"No," she replied. "I could not go to the Harvest Fair without thinking of Aimee, and I miss her, sometimes, though Neeshka reminds me a lot of her, in a way."

"Midsummer is still more than a month away," he said. "Perhaps... no you have your duties with the Watch."

"I do," she sighed. She had just gotten back from one leave of absence, and she dared not ask for another so soon, but she found herself wishing that she could bring him to the Midsummer festival.

"Why are you so fond of Madam Mina's pastries?" she asked suddenly.

"They are nothing exceptional, perhaps," he said, "but they are good. It is more that they are familiar. Madam Mina has a kindly nature, and she used to give us treats, when we passed by her stall. The temple often sent boys to run errands to Blacklake, and Madam Mina was always willing to reward us on the return trip with a sweet. We used to fight each other for the chance to run the errands, and then race most of the way home, just so we could walk slowly by her cart. She would see the temple colors and call us over for a cake. She sent baskets of sweets on feast days, too, but the handouts she gave us always tasted better, somehow."

The cart Casavir led her to was more of a wagon, really, with covered jars lined up along long shelves. An aproned woman around Kayla's age stood in front of the cart, and a plump, elderly woman sat on a chair beside it.

"Good evening, Madam Mina," Casavir greeted the seated woman. "I hope you are well this evening?"

"I am, thank you," the matronly woman beamed. "And you, as well. May we get you... wait, I know your face. When you were a boy, did you study at the temple of Tyr?"

"I did indeed, my lady," Casavir replied. "I am surprised that you should remember. It has been some fifteen years."

"I try not to forget any of you, really," Madam Mina said with a smile, "but some faces are easier to remember than others. Not that I could have forgotten yours, in any case, since you went to the temple so young. Often times, I'd say to my Hal 'I saw young Casavir again today. What a poor little boy, all alone in that temple, with no momma to tuck him in at night,' but then you grew up. And now look at you! The sight of you makes me glad for every cake I gave you. But you have not yet introduced me to your lady."

"Forgive me," Casavir said, blushing. "Madam Mina, this is Kayla of Lathander."

"I am pleased to meet you," the elderly woman smiled.

"And I, you," Kayla responded, smiling too. "Casavir has spoken well of your kindness to the temple messengers."

"I still like to give them little treats, when I can," Madam Mina said. "They're doing Tyr's work, and they all look like they need feeding. You should have seen your Casavir, when he was a boy! He was such a skinny little thing, nothing but a head atop a very short pike, and then, when he got a little older, he grew up, not out. Watching him run up to Blacklake was like watching a bag of knees and elbows roll uphill. But he was always the sweetest boy, so shy and so sad... and my, but he's filled out nicely, now."

"Madam Mina, you are too kind," Casavir said, his blush deepening. "How fares your family?"

"My Hal's been gone these ten years, of course, but everyone else does very well indeed, thank you for asking," she smiled at him. "My granddaughter Tilly runs the stall, now, as you see, and my daughters and sons-in-law do the baking. I just sit here because it wouldn't be Madam Mina's without a Mina."

"Indeed, madam, it would not," Casavir smiled.

"One day, perhaps, it'll be Madam Tilly's, but not any time soon, Tyr willing," she said. "But you did not come here to here to talk to an old lady, when you've got such a pretty friend at your elbow. Tilly, give Casavir some of those honey cakes. They were always your favorite, weren't they? And put your purse away. It's my treat."

"Madam Mina, I could not - " Casavir began.

"Then say a prayer for me instead," she grinned. "I've been spoiling the appetites of young paladins for nigh on sixty years, now, and that's a bit to atone for."

"I shall, my lady," he said, "and thank you. Tyr keep you safe and well."

"And you two as well," she bid them farewell.

They brought the cakes to the Dolphin Bridge, and sat on the rail, looking out over the river. Casavir pried one of the sticky cakes away from its fellows and held it in front of Kayla. It looked to be a ball of fried dough soaked in honey.

"Better if only one of us gets sticky," he said. She smiled, and allowed him to feed her the cake.

It was almost too sweet, really, and Kayla could not eat more than a couple, but Casavir ate the rest with obvious enjoyment. She smiled at his sweet tooth.

"No, Casavir, don't do that!" Kayla took his hands. He was about to wipe them on the front of his doublet. She raised his hand to her face, and licked his finger. He laughed at her playfulness, then smiled indulgently as she cleaned the honey off each sticky fingertip. The honey had dripped between his fingers, but when she pursued it there, he abruptly took his hand away, his face troubled.

"Perhaps I should rinse my hands in the river," he said.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

He did not answer for several heartbeats, but sat staring into the river. Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke.

"I find it unsettling," he said softly.

"Oh!" Kayla said in surprise. "I'm sorry, Cas. I didn't know."

"Shall we go?" he asked, standing. Kayla tried not to look, but she noticed that he held the basket in front of himself.

"If you like," she said. "Tonight, we will go anywhere you want to go."

"Then I wish to hear some music," he said.

They did not have to go far. A pair of bards stood on a street corner within sight of the bridge. They sang in a language Kayla did not understand, but the music was beautiful. Sometimes one would sing, or the other, and sometimes they sang together, but they wove a story in her imagination, of love and loss, and of an unexpected joy at the end of it.

She felt a warm presence behind her, and an arm wrapped around her waist. She sighed and rested her head against Casavir's chest.

"Are you warm enough, my lady?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered, then wished she had thought about the question more before responding. Had she said she was cold, he would most certainly have embraced her fully. Still, the arm around her waist was better than nothing.

At last, the bards' song ended, and the crowd dispersed. Kayla put a few coins in the cup that sat on the ground in front of them and took Casavir's arm.

"Where shall we go now?" she asked.

"It has been a most enjoyable evening, my lady," he said with what sounded like reluctance, "but it grows late. Should we return to the Flagon?"

"If you wish," she sighed. "I would protest, but it must be nearing midnight."

He offered his arm again, and they walked in silence back to the Sunken Flagon. He paused before opening the door, and turned to her.

"I wish to thank you," he said. "In my life, I have never had an evening such as this, and I am most grateful."

He stepped close to her, and placed his free hand on her shoulder. Bending, his lips brushed her cheek in thanks. Kayla hesitated only a moment before indulging in her only deliberate deception of the evening. She intentionally missed, and kissed his lips instead of his cheek. His breath caught, but he shyly returned her kiss with one of his own. He tasted of honey, she thought, even as she put her arms about him. She was trembling, she knew, but he pulled her close before releasing her.

"You are cold," he said. "Let us go in, where it is warm."

* * *

Neeshka watched the door. They were all still up, except for Elanee, waiting for Kayla and Cas to get back.

It had been a quiet night at the Flagon, for her friends. She played Rock, Shears, Parchment with Khelgar or listened to Nobby bore Duncan's customers, but nobody wanted to talk. Shandra was still broody about something, but when Neeshka asked her about it, she wouldn't talk.

Cormick had stopped in, which surprised her, saying that he needed to talk to Kayla about Watch business, but he said it would wait until tomorrow.

"We're still going on our trip, aren't we?" Shandra asked.

"Wouldn't miss it," Cormick smiled. "I'm not calling her in to work on her day off, and I'm not giving up my own, either. Ah, hells, I might as well tell you part of it. I'll tell you the rest tomorrow, but funding for the Watch has been cut, and we both might find ourselves with more days off than we usually get."

"That's a good thing, right?" Neeshka asked.

"Yes and no," he said. "I won't complain about more days off, and who knows? Maybe if I'm around more, I'll even be able to keep you from robbing every merchant in the Docks, but I'm worried that the new Watch building won't get finished this summer. And I'll miss the pay, of course. Anyway, I've got to run... er... where did you say Kayla went again?"

"She and Cas went out for a walk," Shandra supplied. Cormick raised his eyebrows at that, but he smiled and bid them goodnight.

It was almost midnight when Kayla and Cas walked through the door.

"What are you all still doing up?" she asked, looking around.

"Just wanted to make sure you got back safe and sound," Neeshka giggled.

Casavir was just as solemn as ever, but Kayla was glowing. It must have been some evening, and she'd have the details out of her if she had to wheedle her all night.

"You know, even my own foster father stopped waiting up for me five years ago," Kayla laughed.

"Nah, we aren't waiting up for you," Khelgar grunted. "It's just that Cas owes me an ale, and I want to collect on it tonight. Best not to leave a debt unpaid, for the sake of borrower and lender, both."

"When did I incur this debt?" Cas asked.

"Er... last night," Khelgar lied. "You were drunk, though, so you might not remember."

"Indeed, I was," Cas said soberly. "Come, then, I will buy you your ale."

"And... Kayla, you said you were going to give me those leggings that were too short for you," Neeshka improvised.

"Why would I say that?" Kayla blinked. "You can't wear my leggings, Neesh. The tail, remember?"

"Well, you said you had a pair that was too short, anyway," she insisted, "and I've been cutting holes in the back of leggings for years. They'll be fine. Come on, let me see them."

"Fine!" Shandra said irritably. "I'll just sit here by myself and stare at the paint."

Neeshka rolled her eyes. Something was eating Shandra, all right.

"Why don't you join us?" Kayla asked. "The leggings won't fit you any better than they fit me, but your company would be welcome."

"No," Shandra said, blushing. "Thanks, but I think I'll just go to bed."

"See you in the morning," Kayla said, but Shandra just stomped off toward the stairs.

Neeshka stared after her. Khelgar had said something about Shandra earlier... and something about Cas. She wished she remembered what it was.

Cas himself was staring after Shandra, looking grim. He, at least, knew what was bothering Shandra, and he wasn't happy about it. Had Shandra flirted with him? He'd reject her, of course, since he had his heart set on Kayla, but that would certainly explain Shandra's foul mood.

Oh, well. It didn't matter, really. From the way Kayla was still smiling and looking around a bit starry-eyed, she'd have plenty of stories to tell, if she was willing to share.

"Here are the leggings," Kayla said when they got to her room.

"Who cares about the leggings?" Neeshka laughed. "I just wanted to get you alone to talk about your night with Cas."

Kayla sighed in exasperation, but she was still smiling, and closed the door and sat down at the table with Neeshka. There was a stoppered flask of wine on the table, so Kayla poured some into two cups.

"We had a picnic," Kayla said, "we made parchment boats and sailed them down the river, we ate some cakes, we listened to a couple bards, and we came home. There, now you know everything."

"Aw, come on, Kayla!" Neeshka giggled. "You know I won't let you off that light. I want _all_ the details."

Kayla did know Neeshka. By the time she had finished telling her about their goodnight kiss in front of the Flagon, Neeshka felt all warm and dreamy, too. As stiff and formal as Cas was with everyone else, he was sure different with Kayla. He was still courteous, she knew, but she could easily understand why Kayla loved his shy, gentle ways when they were alone together.

Neeshka wasn't jealous of Kayla. She might want the kind of affection from somebody that Cas offered Kayla, but Neeshka would have preferred a more demonstrative suitor... not to mention one who wasn't a paladin... or so tall. Still, they had different tastes. Kayla didn't mind his reserve, and she was patient enough for to wait for him to share with her.

"Why didn't you kiss him, when you said goodnight?" Neeshka asked.

"I did kiss him," Kayla answered.

"No, I mean really kiss him, like in the stories."

"I couldn't," Kayla said. "It would just make him uncomfortable, and it might even offend him. He's been pawed his whole life by girls like Qara, he doesn't need me groping him, too. Besides, even if I did, it wouldn't go anywhere."

"You have to want him, though," Neeshka insisted.

"I do," Kayla admitted, "but I can wait."

"So, when are you going out next?" Neeshka asked.

"I don't know, really," Kayla shrugged. "Maybe the fourth and the ninth of every tenday? We're supposed to have two nights a tenday together. It won't always be as extravagant as tonight, though. I can't afford new gowns and wine twice a tenday. But it was important to do it tonight, though. I've been so rotten to him, lately, making him train Shandra all day, so that he doesn't even have enough energy to last a candle past dinner..."

Kayla looked like she still wanted to say something, so Neeshka waited for it..

"Shandra didn't seem herself, tonight," Kayla said at last. "Do you think she's still upset about her bad training session this morning?"

"I..." Neeshka stopped herself. She was about to tell Kayla about her suspicions of Shandra's flirting, but why should she ruin Kayla's night with that? As far as Cas was concerned, Kayla was the only woman in Faerûn, so making her worry about Shandra was pointless. Khelgar must be rubbing off on her. He would have said that.

"That must be it," Neeshka said lamely, unable to think of anything more logical.

"I'll see if I can talk to her tomorrow, if she's still upset, then," Kayla said. "Everybody has an off day, from time to time. She shouldn't beat herself up over it."

"Well, I'm going to bed," Neeshka said at last. "I'm glad you had such a good time with Cas... and thanks for the leggings."

"Good night," Kayla answered, closing the door behind her.

As she walked back to her room, Neeshka thought about the evening Kayla had enjoyed. It was funny, how love could make such simple things magical. She often went out to dinner with Khelgar, the nights Kayla worked late, but she did not come home all soft and glowing, nor had she been particularly enchanted with the knuckle-head when he'd dragged her all the way to the park just to look at some big rock. But then, Khelgar was a friend. Cas was a lot more than that to Kayla, even if she _said_ she was just paying him back for working him too hard.

At least she got to hear the stories.

* * *

Casavir lay in bed, thinking of the two days that had passed since last he lay down of his own volition. He had been tried by every emotion in turn, from yesterday's despair and jealousy to this evening's tenderness, and he was weary. He told himself that he was ill-accustomed to such extremes. He was made for simpler things, a foe he might slay, a wrong that he might right. He was an outsider, and took no part in the lives of others, except as a protector or as a bane, if they were wicked. That had always been his role. He was unready and unable to even comprehend everything he had felt in the last two turnings of the day, let alone cope with or assimilate it.

_If you are unprepared for your current emotional state, you have only yourself to blame,_ his conscience said. _You have been sleeping while others lived their lives, but no man may sleep forever. Wake, paladin, and face the world before you._

He was afraid. He, who had faced death itself with composure and even detachment, quaked at the knowledge of his new task. There were no facades he might hide behind, no convenient vows that might protect him from the dangers he faced. Nor could he fault The Lady for his present unrest. She was blameless. He must somehow find a way to uphold the trust she placed in him, _as a man_, bereft of all the masks and shields he had used before now.

She did not see him as "the paladin," a genderless golem standing between her and harm. To her, he was Casavir, a Watchman's widow's son, human, and as deserving of her compassion as anyone else. She even seemed to like him, and take joy in his quiet company. He was no collection of superlatives to her, as he was with Katriona, or even with Shandra. With The Lady, he might not shelter behind that disguise. He was naked in the light of her honesty, and it terrified and thrilled him, both.

Could Casavir, the man, serve her? Could he, human as he knew he was, protect her? She placed every trust in him, he knew. Even stripped of his ceremony, and his beloved anonymity, she believed him capable of all that was good and noble.

Yet had it been so difficult, to enjoy her company tonight? He had been completely honest when he said he had never known an evening like the one they had together. He felt carefree, and almost childlike, as if Ao had rolled back the universe twelve years or more, just to allow him to live those four candles in another life, one he might have known, had he not made the mistakes he had made.

Khelgar had asked him of his evening, but he had been unable to tell him. Some thoughts were too private to share with another. Khelgar had needed no further explanation than that, and had clapped him on the shoulder and bid him a hearty good night.

He closed his eyes, and once more, they walked arm in arm along the river, watching the progress of the _Sunray_ and the _Lily_. A night bird called, and he heard the aching beauty of the minstrels' song. A breeze through his open window stirred the scent he had sprinkled on his mattress, and his face was in her hair, as he savored her goodnight kiss.

They would never have another night like this, he knew, but the thought caused him no pain. They would have other, different ones, and some gifts might only be given once. For tonight, he was indeed grateful for the gift she had given him.


	34. Pirate Treasure

_Disclaimer: Obsidian owns everybody but Kayla and the pirates._

* * *

The next morning, Casavir was already seated and having breakfast with Khelgar and Elanee, when Kayla went down to the common room. As usual, he got up when she came to the table and helped her to a seat beside him.

Khelgar and Elanee were engaged in a familiar debate about the dietary merits of meat consumption, so Kayla ignored them and turned her attention to Casavir. He was always quieter in the mornings, and today was no different, but he looked well-rested and as happy as he ever did. She patted his arm and asked for the butter.

Shandra entered the common room then, and got her breakfast from Sal. There was a seat open directly across from Casavir, but she took her plate all the way to the far end of the table, well away from both of them. Kayla shook her head.

"Something's bothering Shandra, Cas," she said, "and I think I know what it is. Would you excuse me a moment?"

"My lady, no," Casavir said quickly. "She needs time, but she will survive this."

"Shandra isn't like you, Cas," Kayla said. "You're wiser than she is, and while you might accept setbacks and obstacles as part of the growing process, she still takes them personally. I'm going to go talk to her now, so this doesn't ruin her day off."

Casavir sighed, but he did not prevent her from getting up and going to Shandra.

Shandra was not eating much, this morning, Kayla noticed. While most of them took their heaviest meal in the evenings, Shandra was a morning person, and usually ate quite hearty breakfasts. Today, she had nothing but some toast and a fried egg.

"May I join you?" Kayla asked.

Shandra shrugged, so Kayla sat down. She resumed eating her own breakfast, if nothing else, to let Shandra see that she was not about to just sit down and start in on her.

"I know something is bothering you, Shandra," Kayla began, "and I just wanted to say that we all have bad days."

"Yeah," Shandra replied, "well, it was more than just one bad day."

"You're being too hard on yourself," Kayla said. "Nobody thinks worse of you for a couple of mistakes, and I don't think they were anywhere near as bad as you're making them out to be."

"You're only saying that because you don't know the half of it," Shandra said tartly. "Or was Cas telling stories last night?"

"It was more Neeshka, really, but she probably got it from Khelgar," Kayla admitted. Shandra looked faintly ill, she thought.

"Oh, that's just great," she moaned. "It's nice to see everybody talks to each other. Except for how much it isn't."

"Really, Shandra," Kayla said firmly, putting her hand on the other woman's arm, "it isn't that bad. I wish I could make you see that. And like I said, it would be too much to ask of anyone to be completely perfect all the time, and a person like that would be intolerable, anyway. Besides, Cas was on the receiving end of the worst of it, and he's already forgotten about it."

"Really?" Shandra blinked. "I wouldn't have thought he'd get over it so quick."

"It wasn't the end of the world," Kayla smiled.

"Thanks for being so understanding," Shandra smiled.

"Now get yourself some more breakfast and join us," Kayla urged. "I don't know how far away this sea cave is, but Cormick said he'd be by early. Which reminds me, I'd better go get Neeshka and Qara up. They won't want to miss it, but you know how late they can sleep."

Cormick came by even earlier than Kayla expected. She had barely finished her own breakfast, and Neeshka, Qara, and Grobnar were just getting started when he lumbered over to their table and sat down next to Shandra. Seeing that people were still eating, he flagged Sal down for a beer.

"Got some Watch business to get out of the way, before we set out," Cormick said. "I don't know if anybody told you last night, but our budget's been cut. That business with the Sea Ghost got Lord Nasher anxious, and he's pulling money out of the Watch and putting it into defense of the harbor and the coast."

"That sounds serious," Kayla said in concern. "What does that mean for the new Watch building?"

"It means that we're going to have to halt construction, possibly for the rest of the summer," he said. "I'm sorry, Kayla. I know you wanted to get that building done as much as I did, but it looks like you and I are going to have to share an office for a little while longer... at least when we are in the office together, that is. We're both getting two more days off a tenday, and we'll have to cover each others' shifts."

"Can you afford that?" Kayla asked quietly. She could afford the loss of two days' pay, but Cormick did not supplement his income by adventuring.

"Not really," he admitted. "I'll probably have to go back to living at the Cabbage Rose, though it kills me to say it."

"You could take a room here," Kayla suggested. "Taverns in the Docks aren't nearly as expensive as the Merchant District."

Cormick shrugged.

"The Rose is in the Docks," he said. "You probably never saw it because the signboard came down in a storm a few years ago, and nobody's bothered putting it back up. It's up on Saddler's Alley, next to that place that has the good pickled herring."

"I thought that was just a rudown old house," Kayla said.

"Yes, it looks like one from the street," he said.

"I'm surprised that two days would make that much of a difference," Kayla said before she could stop herself. Cormick might not like talking about his personal finances among so many people.

"I've had a bit of a pay cut, as well," he said. "It was that or dock my men, and I guess you can figure out which way I went on that one."

_Poor Cormick,_ Kayla thought irreverently, _no more Moonstone Mask for you. Or... maybe he doesn't have to take a pay cut, after all. Casavir wants to go to West Harbor, and some time away from Neverwinter would be nice..._

"Would it help if I took a leave of absence?" Kayla asked, as innocently as she could manage. The sight of Casavir smiling quietly into his morning beer was all the encouragement she needed.

"You'd do that?" Cormick asked in surprise. "Don't you need the money?"

"Well, yes," Kayla admitted, "but I can live off my savings for a while, and my expenses are less than yours. Besides, we were talking about making a trip to West Harbor, and this would be the perfect opportunity."

"Leave it to you to find the gold piece in the bottom of the chamber pot," Cormick laughed. He looked genuinely relieved by her suggestion, though. "But what would you want to go back there for?"

"Cas has never seen it," Kayla said, "and I wouldn't mind being there for Midsummer. You remember how much fun that was, don't you?"

"Yes," Cormick agreed. "It's better than Midsummer here, certainly. How long an absence would you want? I'm thinking that once winter starts setting in, the Luskans won't be so eager to brave the Sea of Swords, but you needn't stay away that long."

"Let's start out with four tendays," she proposed. "When do you want the leave to begin?"

"I'm going to need you for a few more tendays yet," Cormick said. "But I can probably shave it down to two, since you'll need a tenday to reach West Harbor, if you go by land, and Midsummer is only a little over three tendays away. I'll have to work you hard in the meantime, though. I had to demote Jenna, so you'd be doing her job as well as your own, since I can't expect to find a replacement on what the Watch is willing to pay."

"You demoted Jenna?" Kayla asked. She knew that Cormick did not think much of his first sergeant, but she had thought him above letting his personal opinions influence his decisions.

"I had no choice, Kayla," he said. "I hoped that she'd mellow a bit, but the authority she had was too much for her, right now. One of the men in her command showed up for duty with ale on his breath and she overreacted."

"Was he drunk?" Kayla asked.

"Not that the rest of his duty crew could tell," Cormick said. "But that didn't matter to Jenna. She didn't just send him home and dock him for the afternoon, she up and dismissed him. She wouldn't even let him keep his sword. I spent yesterday afternoon sorting that out. Turns out that the man just had a pint of ale with his lunch and had the misfortune of belching at the wrong moment. Anyway, he's reinstated, Jenna's been bucked back down to lance corporal and reassigned. I've got her in the supply depot now."

"She'll be thorough," Kayla rolled her eyes.

"I bet," Cormick agreed wryly. "Gods help me if I need a pot of ink, though. She's going to be tighter than a miser with a toothache."

"How far away is the cave?" Kayla asked, looking at the Flagon's high windows. It was not yet mid-morning, but this could hardly be called an early start.

"Not more than five miles, I reckon," Cormick said. "I borrowed one of the Watch nags, so I'll be able to ride with you... always assuming I don't fall off, of course."

* * *

The road along the coast was quiet, today, Casavir thought. They had passed only one farm cart since setting out. He had been away from Neverwinter for several years, but he remembered more traffic on the coast road. It felt anxious, almost, like it had during the war. He hoped that it was only his imagination, not a sign of things to come.

He rode in the lead with The Lady and Cormick. They talked to each other, mostly, but he was content to listen. They spoke of West Harbor, and the childhood they had spent there.

"Cormick," The Lady said suddenly, "there's something I've been meaning to ask you."

"I'm all ears," Cormick said.

"Do you remember my mother?" she asked.

Cormick was silent a moment, as if searching his memory.

"A little," he said at last. "I was only ten when she died, and she was holed up with Daeghun and Shayla, so I don't remember her all that well."

"What did she look like?" The Lady asked eagerly. Casavir, too, was curious.

"My ten year old self thought she was very pretty," Cormick laughed. "She had lighter hair than Shandra, I recall, but I don't know what color her eyes were. She was slim, like you, but she was a little shorter, and she had these great, big... er... eyes."

Casavir just about fell off Minnow himself, he was so shocked at Cormick's candor. He was about to remind him that he spoke to a lady, but the Watch marshal was already very red in the face, and The Lady just laughed.

"Just my luck I took after my father," she said. "Were you there during the attack, when she died?"

"I was playing at the Starlings when it happened," Cormick recalled. "Lorne and I were of an age, and we were good friends."

"I remember," The Lady said. "The two of you were always off doing grown-up stuff when I was playing at Bevil's."

"Not so grown-up, really," Cormick's blush deepened. "We worked in the fields, of course, but when we weren't doing that, we were usually trying to wheedle mead out of Lazlo's father or putting arrows in haybales... sometimes both. Best not to ask. Anyway, when the attack came, Lorne's mother herded us into the root cellar. She must have given Bevil a whole bag of sweets to keep him quiet, he was fussing so much at the noise. When it was all over, it was dead quiet, so Retta went out to see what was going on. She came back in then and told us we were to stay exactly where we were until she came back to tell us we could leave. I had to hold Bevil, but he'd fallen asleep by that point. I can only imagine that she didn't want us to see the worst of the carnage, because by the time she let us out, it was already after dark, and the bonfire was going, so we never saw the dead."

"You must have been terrified," she said.

"At first," he admitted, "but after a while, we were just bored. Put two boys in a root cellar with nothing to do for six candles, and they're bound to fidget. Anyway, I never saw your mother after that, so I'd already guessed she was among the dead. After that, you were put up with Daeghun, and that was the end of that."

The Lady sighed.

"I guess it's too much to expect a boy to remember much about somebody he didn't even know," she said.

"You could ask Duncan," Cormick said. "He was at West Harbor most of the time your mother was."

"Oh, really?" Kayla asked curiously. "I didn't know he knew her. I'll have to ask him when we get back... Is that the cove, over there?"

Casavir watched Cormick look off in the direction The Lady was pointing, and looked himself. The marshal suddenly held up his closed fist to halt the column.

"Something isn't right," Cormick said. "I've ridden this road dozens of times, and I don't remember boats ever pulling up on that beach. There's shoals a couple hundred yards off shore, and that discourages most people from using the cove."

"Do you suspect pirates?" Casavir asked grimly.

"Yes," Cormick replied, "and if they are pirates, I want to make sure that we get them all before they get back to their ship. There's a path a quarter mile further north, Kayla. I want to split into two groups and take them from both sides. There are two longboats with six oars apiece, so I estimate there may be as many as fourteen of them. We won't want them to scatter. I'll take the one that attacks from the north, since I know the path. Do you agree, Kayla?"

"Casavir is better at strategy than I am," Kayla said. "Cas?"

"I agree with the advisability of a two-front attack," he said. "Neeshka, go with Cormick, and Khelgar and Elanee. Shandra, Grobnar and Qara will remain here with us, and attack once you're in position. We can tie the horses here, as I don't want to risk them on that slope. Do you have a mirror you might use to signal us?"

"No," Cormick said, "but I do have a shiny flask."

"That will do," he said.

The attack went well, Casavir thought. There were indeed fourteen pirates, but they had no spellcasters, and no ranged weapons. Neeshka and Grobnar picked off half a dozen of them before they were even in mêlée range, and apart from their lieutenants, they were too unskilled to present much of a challenge.

The Lady had given them a chance to surrender, but they refused it. That was exasperating, but understandable. Had they surrendered, they would have been taken back to Neverwinter, where they would have been hung as pirates, anyway, possibly after being forced to reveal any information they possessed. Like this, they died with their cutlasses in their hands, not dancing at the end of a rope.

Shandra had been gravely injured, but The Lady tended her. Casavir would have ordered her back, as she was still too inexperienced to face pirates, but The Lady wanted her to have that opportunity to build her confidence. She had not done badly, despite her injuries. She had killed one outright, and was only overwhelmed when a third opponent joined the second in attacking her.

"I am proud of your progress, Shandra," he said, after the wound in her side was healed. "You fought well."

"They skewered me like a boar," she laughed, blushing.

"You have not yet been trained to face two opponents at once," he replied. "When you faced one, you did very well indeed. I noticed that your concentration never wavered."

"Thanks, Cas," Shandra beamed. "It means a lot to hear you say that. It really does make a difference, though, when they're out for blood. We didn't exactly armor up this morning."

That was most certainly true. They brought weapons out of habit, but none of them, including himself, had donned armor for what should have been a pleasure outing. He would not be making that mistake again.

Now all that remained was the division of the spoils. The pirates had two small, heavy chests of gold and jewels. Ordinarily, they would have paid their bills and split the remainder evenly, but Cormick was not one of them, and he had been instrumental in defeating the pirates.

"Should the Watch have this gold?" The Lady asked.

"It would ensure that the new headquarters was finished," Cormick said hopefully. "Between the gold and the gems, there has to be ten thousand here, maybe twenty, if the gems are good."

"It's your day off!" Neeshka protested. "Both of you! And none of us are in the Watch, but we all helped."

"Neesh, please understand," The Lady appealed to her, "that building hasn't even got a roof yet. If the weather gets in... well, remember those ruins we visited with Cas? That brand new building, that has cost thousands so far, won't even look that good before the winter is out."

"If we just hand the money over to the Watch, Lord Nasher is going to ask questions," Neeshka was undeterred. "And you know you're just going to tell him the truth. When he hears about pirates, you know he's going to snatch up every copper for the coast guard, and you still won't get your watch building."

"I hate to say it Kayla," Cormick said, rubbing his chin, "but she's right. That's exactly what will happen."

"If it were a memorial donation, would the gold be diverted?" Casavir asked.

"Not likely," Cormick admitted. "Even Lord Nasher would respect that."

"Are you thinking of making the donation in your father's memory?" The Lady asked him.

"No," he said. "I am a poor paladin. If I had wealth such as this, I should rather be expected to use it to build a small estate, perhaps, or give it to my temple, if I had no inclination to build a home. I would never have such a large supply of ready gold on hand. You, my lady, are an adventurer, and as everyone knows, adventurers spend as if gold were water. You are also a Watchman. You might elect to make such a donation in the memory of other fallen Watchmen, and no one would question your right to do so... or the means."

"I like the way you think," Cormick grinned. "I've got no objection to putting my share into that, certainly."

"Well I do!" Neeshka said. Casavir sighed. She was what she was.

"You're crazy if you think I'm letting that fat pile of gold go into some moldy building," Qara agreed.

At the end of a candle's deliberation, only Neeshka and Qara would keep their full shares. The Lady, Cormick, Khelgar, Shandra, and Casavir himself, of course, would give their full shares to the Watch. Grobnar, always undecided, would keep some and donate the rest. Elanee would not claim a share at all, as she said she had no need of one, but she preferred to just split the treasure one less way.

"The Watch building will be finished with what's left, I'd wager," Cormick said as they rode back to Neverwinter, "but that won't help you or I any. We'll still have to take that pay cut, unless you still want to take your leave."

"I really don't want to give up the chance to go to West Harbor for Midsummer," The Lady said. Casavir felt his face redden, but he could hardly describe how pleased he was to hear that. She was doing it for him, he knew. She had been gone less than a year, so she could hardly be pining for the faces of home so soon.

"You'll have to work harder to make all the arrangements by the time you leave," Cormick warned her. "I can sign pay vouchers with the best of them, but you're going to be the one picking out the furniture and arguing with the plasterers. I'm more than happy to point to a contract and say 'Do it,' but it all has to be down in writing before you go."

"I'll stay until midnight six days out of the tenday, if I have to," she said. "but I won't work late the fourth or the ninth. I have an engagement I won't break."

Casavir blinked at that. Today was the tenth of the tenday, so she must intend the fourth and the ninth for him. He felt selfish, to force her to work late other nights so that he might have his time with her, but he was reluctant to speak, lest she change her mind.

"Fair enough," Cormick agreed. "With this windfall, we should be able to get the roof on in the next tenday or so, and after that, it's just inside work, and the glazing."

It was barely mid-afternoon when they returned to Neverwinter, but by the time they finished selling the gems and distributing shares to those who would take gold, it was time for their evening meal.

"I get to say what I do with my share, don't I, Kayla?" Neeshka asked innocently.

"Yes," The Lady agreed.

"Then tonight, we're dining at the Moonstone Mask," she announced.

"I could not," Casavir objected.

"You won't burst into flame just for walking through the door," Neeshka wheedled. "And we all need a night on the town. Come on, Cas, just think about it... roast lamb, those little green peas you like so much, the best wine in Neverwinter..."

"I will not go to a festhall just to appease my appetite," Casavir retorted, then felt himself redden again. Why could he not have chosen his words with better care?

"You're making too much of it, Casavir," Cormick said. "Yes, company can be had for a price, there, but the same can be said of the Flagon, or anywhere else in Neverwinter. If you shunned every place flesh might be bought or sold, you'd never be able to leave the temple, and I'm not even sure you could escape it there."

Casavir sighed. Cormick was right, perhaps. Even at the Flagon, he had seen Bishop go upstairs with a woman who was almost certainly a whore. He had been propositioned himself, one evening. No, it was the reputation of the Mask that was abhorrent to him, and that, it seemed had changed. Much had, since the war.

"My lady," Casavir appealed to his leader, "do you wish to dine at such a disreputable place?"

"I've already been in it, Cas," she said, "and it didn't look that bad. I saw some perfectly respectable people in there."

"Very well," he consented reluctantly.

"We certainly can't go like this," Cormick said. "Shandra's tunic is nothing but blood, and we could all use a change of clothes. Shall I meet you outside the Flagon in a candle?"

Casavir shook his head. A man might maintain his virtue even while surrounded by vice, if his spirit was pure. He, however, would be challenged indeed.


	35. Many Masks

_Disclaimer: Obsidian owns everybody but Kayla. They are responsible for none of this, however._

* * *

Kayla locked the door behind herself and opened up her clothing chests. Decisions, decisions. She could wear her new gown again. It was the best she owned, and it was certainly suitable for the Moonstone Mask, but she'd just worn it the night before. It was another warm night, so maybe she'd wear the yellow, instead.

She laced up the gown and pulled a chair over to the dressing table. She'd worn her hair in braids, that day, but it was still clean. She'd only washed it the day before, so she could get away with wearing it loose tonight, and the braids would have soaked up some of the damp sea air and set her hair in waves as they dried.

Her hair would look nice, at least, but her face... As usual, she looked at her reflection in her mirror and wished there was something she could do about her pallor. She'd managed to find a replacement for Elanee's malodorous ointment at Sand's shop. It had no scent at all, so she used it every time she went out of doors, to prevent freckles and burning, but it left her looking rather wan. Some women used rouge, she knew, and she had experimented with it once or twice, but it was all too dark for her, and made her look feverish... or lewd. She pulled the rouge pot out and stared at it again. Maybe it was just too concentrated? She wondered what would happen if she cut it with Sand's sunburn cream.

She put a dab of both on her palm and mixed them together, then applied a little very sparingly to her cheeks. Success! And to think, it had only taken her a couple months to come up with that solution.

She thought about putting some on her lips as well, but she did not know what was in either Sand's ointment or the rouge, and she would be eating and drinking tonight. It was probably better not to experiment, there, at least until she had spoken with Sand.

_So... if I mix the ointment with the rouge, and it turns out well, what would happen if I mixed it with the kohl?_

Empirical testing revealed that the result of that mixture would be unbearable pain and uncontrollable watering of her eyes. She immediately wiped it off, and even washed her eyes, but they still burned.

_Lesson learned,_ she thought.

Once again, she looked at her reflection. Her eyes were now redder than her cheeks, and her pupils had grown to enormous size, as if she had used an infusion of belladonna water in them. Her irises were nothing but a thin line of brown around a pair of blown-out pupils, and the dimly lit room suddenly appeared far brighter.

_You wanted to look interesting and mysterious,_ she told herself. _Mission accomplished. You also look like you spent the afternoon eating lotus, but what price is that to pay for a little drama?_

In the common room, she made her excuses to her uncle.

"That's all right, Kayla," he said, "but... are you all right? You look a little odd."

"I got a whiff of a bad potion," she lied. "It will pass."

"If you're sure," he sounded unconvinced, but he did not try to stop her.

Most of her friends were already gathered in the common room. Bishop was back, she discovered, and was currently trying to get in Shandra's good graces, or at least her gown. He, too, seemed to find mulberry a good choice for blondes.

On learning that they planned to go to the Moonstone Mask for dinner that evening, he was only too eager to accompany them. Neeshka protested, saying he was not there when they had won the gold, so she would not pay for his dinner, but he laughed it off, saying that he would pay his own way, if he had to, as he had just won a fat purse off "some of Neverwinter's finest, the idiots."

She'd hoped to be able to make him stay home on account of his dress, but he had returned to the Flagon some hours before, and had already bathed and changed into something presentable.

"You look ravishing, Princess," Bishop leered, having failed to seduce Shandra. "And perhaps I might. You wouldn't mind, would you, Princess?"

"Keep your distance, Bishop," Casavir said forbiddingly.

"Maybe a little," Bishop drawled, "but by the looks of things, the lady likes what she sees. Maybe we'll find out how much, after His Holiness is nodding over his cups."

"Come on, Cas," Kayla sighed, taking his arm, "It's almost time to meet Cormick. Let's wait for him outside."

To be perfectly honest, the candlelight of the Flagon was a bit much for her to bear, with her eyes still smarting from her failed attempt at cosmetic enhancement.

She felt something prickling at the edges of her awareness, the feather-soft brush of divine power, it might have been. She looked at Casavir in alarm. He was looking at her intently, his expression concerned.

"What are you doing, Cas?" she asked him.

"Forgive me, my lady," he stammered. "I was unaware that you could sense my intent. There is something wrong with your eyes, my lady. Are you certain that you took no injury today? I would not put it past pirates to poison their blades."

Kayla groaned. She could lie to Duncan, but she could not lie to Casavir.

"If I'm poisoned," she said, "I did it myself. No, Casavir, I'm all right, really. If you must know, I tried mixing a little of that ointment Sand made up for us with kohl, and it did not go so well."

He turned her to face him and took both her hands in one of his own. With the other, he tilted her face up toward his own. She blinked in the candlelight, but he looked intently at her face. Very gently, he touched her cheek where she had applied the diluted rouge.

"My lady, you should not," he said softly. "No art of man may improve on what the gods themselves have graced you with."

His words might be taken to mean that she was a lost cause, but Kayla was fairly sure he meant it as a compliment. She kissed his hand, and smiled at the blush that crept into his cheeks.

"Can we wait outside, Cas?" she asked. "The light hurts my eyes a bit."

"Should you not rather remain here, my lady?" he asked. "You might darken your room, and I could bring you your dinner there. I would be pleased to keep you company... while you eat, my lady."

"Thanks, Casavir," she smiled, "but I think Neeshka is really looking forward to this. She's been dying for a night out, and I don't want to disappoint her. I'll be all right, really."

"If you are certain... " he sounded unconvinced, "but speak the word, and I shall accompany you back here instantly."

She nodded.

_Yes, Cas, I'm certain you would,_ she thought. _You would seize any opportunity to get out of going to the Mask. But it's good for you, to see that all is not the cesspit you imagine it to be._

Cormick looked magnificent. Kayla had never seen him in anything but his watch uniform or casual tunics, but tonight, he wore a wine-colored silk doublet and doeskin hose that emphasized his muscular legs.

"It's nice to see you out of uniform," she complimented him. "You should dress up more often."

"This will be my last night on the town for quite some time," he said, "so I thought I'd make the most of it. You look lovely, Kayla. Have you done something different with your hair?"

"No," she murmured, "but thanks."

"My lady?" Casavir was at her side, offering her an arm. "The cobblestones are slick, this evening, and I should not want you to lose your footing."

_Is he going to treat me like an invalid all night? Still, he means well._

When they got to the Moonstone Mask, Kayla could hardly see, the room was so bright. For a moment, she considered taking Casavir up on his offer to escort her home, but he insisted on a table in private parlor, and went around blowing out candles until Qara threatened to set the tablecloth on fire if he extinguished one more.

"What's the matter with you, Cas?" Khelgar rumbled. "You know you can't see in the dark."

"I fear my lady has taken too much sun today," he said simply. Kayla stared at him. That was a deliberate lie, she knew, but she was grateful for it. The last thing she wanted was to draw more attention to her earlier lapse in judgment.

They talked about pleasant, inconsequential things while they ate. They did not have Casavir's lamb tonight, but they did offer a luxurious platter of shellfish in cream sauce and what tasted like the same sparkling wine Kayla had bought for their picnic. Elanee had accompanied them tonight, to Kayla's surprise, but their hosts were more than happy to accommodate her preferences.

"What's that?" Kayla asked her.

"It's supposed to be from Sembia," Elanee said. "Risotto, I think, the waiter called it. It's rice, mushrooms, and cheese, and very, very tasty. Would you like to try some?"

Kayla accepted a taste, but she did not share Elanee's enthusiasm for it. Given a choice between rice and barley, Kayla would choose the barley.

A trio of musicians entertained them for a while, and by the time they were done, the room was starting to look dark.

"Shall we go out into the lounge?" Kayla asked Neeshka.

"Are you recovered, my lady?" Casavir asked her softly.

"I think so," she said. She felt something brush her knee. Casavir was fumbling for her hand under the table, and sqeezed her leg, by mistake. She placed her hand on his, and he took it quickly. His hand shook, she noticed. She looked at his face, but her vision had improved to the point where she could not see his expression in the darkness. The intimacy of the contact must have unsettled him, she decided, though it had been unintentional.

The lounge was an oasis of light and music. Neeshka immediately claimed Khelgar for a dance, and Shandra walked out onto the floor on Grobnar's arm... or more appropriately, his shoulder.

"May I?" Cormick asked.

"Do you mind, Casavir?" she asked him. He had been so solicitous of her comfort that it seemed rude to dismiss him, now that she was feeling better.

"Not at all, my lady," he assured her. "I should prefer to watch."

Cormick led her through the first set in silence, but after a few moments, he cleared his throat.

"How is Casavir?" he asked her.

"He's fine, I think," Kayla answered, a bit confused by the question. "He's never sick, if that's what you mean."

"I was asking more about the two of you," he said. "Any changes?"

Kayla blushed. Cormick might indeed be curious about that.

"I'm not really sure," Kayla admitted. "We went out for a picnic and a walk last night, and it was certainly special, but it's so hard to tell with Cas. We didn't... er..."

"It's all right, Kayla," he said calmly, "I said I'd dance at your wedding, and I still mean it. If things are getting more serious between you, I'll be the first in line to shake his hand."

"That's the thing, Cormick," she said, "I don't think they are getting more serious. I mean, we had a wonderful time last night. I won't lie about that, but it was really just... it's hard to explain. He's kind to everyone, you know, and while it's possible that there might be more someday, it doesn't look like it's going to happen any time soon. Is that making sense?"

"You could just up and ask him," he suggested.

"No, I don't think I could," she said.

Cormick looked at her, an amused, knowing expression on his face.

_I hear your thoughts, Harborman,_ Kayla mused. _"This from the girl who damn near jumped me in the common room of my own tavern."_

"He isn't ready," she said. Cormick's fingers tightened on the hand he held.

"One day at a time, right, Kayla?" he said.

"Yes," she replied.

* * *

Casavir sipped his wine. He had not wanted to go out tonight at all. He had wanted to spend a quiet evening at the Flagon, listening to The Lady talk. Had he been allowed that, he would have been more than content. Yet Neeshka would not be dissuaded, and The Lady would humor her friend.

When he perceived that The Lady was unwell, he was even less enthusiastic about taking her away from the comforts of home. He urged her to remain behind, and let him entertain her, to the best of his abilities, but she would not hear of it.

Why had she done such a foolish thing in the first place? She needed no paint to be beautiful, and the mask of her cosmetics hid the translucent perfection of her skin.

He took another sip.

She was dancing now. He could watch her forever, so graceful was she. She danced with Cormick, so he need not fear for her virtue in that company. He might ask her later, though he doubted he would. It was too pleasant sitting here, watching her sleek body move with the music. The sight stirred him, but in this place, who would know or care? He need not fear The Lady's eyes on him, as she was caught up in the dance. He slid forward a bit in his armchair, to allow more ease in his leggings. He should probably get up and walk it off, but his doublet hid the worst of it, and he was comfortable.

The chink of silver against crystal announced the presence of the waiter, refilling his glass. He thanked the man, and took another drink. How many was it?

She danced with Grobnar, now, in a livelier dance that brought a smile to her lips... and that made her breasts sway in time to the music. He slid forward a little more, and took another sip of his wine. He should have a care that he did not overindulge again. He felt mellow, perhaps, but he was still far from drunk... though the distance was closing. He put the glass down. It took two tries.

Once more, she danced with Cormick. It was something slower, more exotic. He did not know the dance, but he was glad to watch it, nonetheless. Cormick's arm was about her waist, and he faced her as they danced. Casavir could easily imagine himself in Cormick's place, with her lithe body pressed against him.

That was too much. Now, he really did need to get up and walk it off.

"Hello, handsome," a sultry voice breathed from a doorway. "Why don't you come here and let me sing you a lullaby?"

A young woman beckoned. She was voluptuous to the point of plumpness, with an enormous bosom that was only partially veiled by the silk scarf around her shoulders. Even as his mind recoiled at her lewdness, his body responded to her invitation... and her lush, ample charms. He fled.

He took several deep, steadying breaths, but they were not enough to dispel his arousal. He was at the doorway to the dining parlor they had used earlier. Here, he might regain his composure without distraction.

He was not alone.

"Casavir?" Shandra asked. She stood with her back to him, her gown partially unlaced.

"Forgive me, Shandra," he said quickly. "I am sorry to have disturbed you."

"No, Cas," she said. "It's all right. It's just that it's a new gown, and... well, there was still a pin in it, so I unlaced the gown to take the pin out, and now I can't get it laced up again. Er... would you...?"

"Should I rather not call one of the ladies to you, or a maid?" he asked, very aware of his condition.

"Why bother?" she asked. "It will only take a moment."

His hands shook, but he attempted it.

Perhaps it was the wine he had drunk, or the ache that still burned in his nethers, but when his fingers touched the laces of Shandra's gown, it was The Lady whose gown he touched, and The Lady whose slender neck enticed him.

Groaning, he bent to kiss that neck. Her answering moan fueled his passion, and he turned her to face him. He kissed her hungrily, as if he could devour her. She answered eagerly, licking his lips and sliding her hands down his back to caress his buttocks. He pulled her hard against his body. She gasped at the feel of his arousal, but he was too far gone to stop now. His hands moved over her breasts, exposing them. She cried out as he pinched her nipple, but he soothed it with kisses, and she moaned. She breathed now in sharp little gasps, and her hand inched around his hip, pausing only a moment before she stroked him. Her caress made his knees weak, but he fought to maintain control long enough to undo his leggings.

He heard a click behind him and turned at the sound. Cormick's grim face was framed by the partially opened door. The face retreated and the door closed.

"I'll come back for your cloak later, Kayla," he heard Cormick say, "the room is in use, right now."

"I'm worried about him, Cormick," he heard The Lady respond. "Cas doesn't like crowds, and he didn't want to come here in the first place. Do you think he went back to the Flagon by himself?"

"Maybe," he thought Cormick sounded bleak. "Here, you can wear my cloak. I'll walk you back."

"I won't just leave him here, if he got lost!" The Lady sounded outraged, but when she spoke again, her voice was calmer. "You go. I'll wait here, and maybe ask around. Somebody must have seen him."

"No, Kayla," Cormick said firmly. "Khelgar, please walk Kayla back to the Flagon. I'll wait here myself. The Mask might be better than it was, but it's still no place for a lady to stay unaccompanied."

"Are you sure you don't mind?" The Lady asked.

"Yes, I'm sure I don't mind," Cormick said. "I'll wait in the common room, and if he isn't back in half a candle, I'll start making inquiries."

"Thank you," The Lady said. "Have you seen Shandra, by the way? I haven't seen her in a while, either."

"Yes, I saw her," Cormick said. "I believe she had some adjustment to make on her gown. I will escort her back when she's done."

"Good man, Cormick," Khelgar's rumbled thanks drowned out The Lady's. "Come on, Neesh. Party's over."

Casavir's heart froze. He turned to face his sin.

Shandra stood in front of him, pulling her gown back up around her shoulders. She looked at him in confusion.

Casavir slumped against the wall and sank to the floor. He drew his knees up to his chest, buried his face in his hands, and wept.

Shandra knelt beside him. She put a hand on his arm, but he shrugged it off.

"What just happened?" she asked.

"I have just made the biggest mistake of my life," he groaned. He dragged his knuckles across his eyes and tried to compose himself.

"I don't understand," she said.

"Forgive me, Shandra," he said. His throat still felt tight, but it should. It should be tight enough to strangle him. "I have just assaulted you."

"Um... no, you didn't," she replied. "I wanted you to do that."

"But I did not," he moaned. "Do you not understand? I did not want to do that with you. I wanted... someone else, but my lust was enough to blind me."

"Oh," Shandra sank to the floor beside him. "Well, that's a bit of a let down."

"I am truly sorry," he said.

"Yeah," she said, "I'm getting that. It doesn't help."

Casavir sat with his arms around his knees, staring at a table leg. Shandra wanted reassurance, he knew, but he could not give it. He had come upon her here, half mad with desire, and he had imposed himself upon her, wishing she was The Lady. Shandra, meanwhile, had yielded to him knowing full well who he was. Barely a day before, he had told her that he did not welcome her attention, and tonight, he had allowed... nay, encouraged... her to stroke him. Yesterday, he had thought her a slut for staring at his buttocks, but today, he had tasted her breast. He buried the heels of his hands in his eyes.

"Shandra," he said at last, "please understand... it is not you. You are a desirable, beautiful woman... "

"But not the one you want," she finished for him. He nodded miserably. "Do you have a brother?"

He blinked at her. Was that an attempt to cheer him?

"I do," he said, "but he is a thief, if he lives."

"Sounds perfect," Shandra laughed. "Come on, do up my gown. Cormick is waiting for us in the lounge."

Casavir groaned. Cormick. The Harborman, her friend, had seen everything. He had seen him with his head back against the paneling, moaning in rapture, with her mouth on his throat and her hands on his naked... great Tyr, what had he done?

He sobered. Whatever he had done, he might have done worse. Were it not for Cormick's arrival, he would have taken Shandra. He shuddered at how close he had come to...

He would have Fallen. Had he taken Shandra then, he would have violated his oaths, and betrayed his calling.

"Er... Cas?" Shandra asked in concern. "Are you having a fit or something?"

He was shaking so badly, he could hardly answer her.

"Shandra," he gasped, "I have taken vows against what I have just done."

"You stopped in time, right?" she asked.

"Yes," he breathed, calming, "though only barely."

"Then don't worry about it," she shrugged. "Listen, Cas, the important thing is that you stopped in time. And it's a good thing, too, because you don't want to Fall, and I don't want to lie with a man who's thinking about somebody else. Thanks for that, by the way. I sure as hells don't want you now."

Cormick was sitting in Casavir's armchair when they reached the lounge, with his booted legs up on a footstool, smoking a pipe and drinking wine. He gestured them to two nearby armchairs.

"All done?" he asked once Casavir and Shandra had seated themselves.

"It wasn't what you're thinking," Shandra said quickly, at the same moment as Casavir said "We are not lovers."

"I'm not the one you should be talking to," Cormick said. "On second thought, maybe I am, because I sure as hells don't want her to find out what I just walked in on."

Casavir stared at him. It was too much to hope that The Lady should not discover his guilt, but Cormick offered silence.

"Listen," Cormick said, "I don't much care what you two do behind closed doors, but -"

"I say again, Shandra is not my lover," Casavir said firmly. "It was a moment of madness, nothing more. I regret that you should have seen what you did, but I am thankful that your arrival prevented greater folly."

"Like I said," Cormick went on, unperturbed, "what you do is your business, but Casavir... if you aren't going to court her, stop leading her on. She's a fine woman, and I don't want to see her hurt."

"It's all right, Cormick," Shandra said, reaching out and patting his arm, "we're past that, though it's a sweet thought."

"I wasn't talking about you," Cormick said. Shandra rolled her eyes and sighed.

"I'm getting that a lot lately," she said.

"I shall take what you say to heart," Casavir said solemnly.

"Come on," Cormick said. "She left her cloak in the room. Get it, and we'll be leaving."

Casavir walked in silence back to the Sunken Flagon, with The Lady's cloak draped over his arm. He had passed a mirror, on the way out of the Mask, and had seen the welt Shandra's mouth had left on his neck. He could hardly breathe, with the weight of his guilt upon him, and there was no way to lessen it, this time. He must confess or he must lie. Neither option left him with much hope.

* * *

Kayla waited anxiously back at the Sunken Flagon. Half a candle had passed, and still, Casavir had not returned, or Cormick with Shandra. Khelgar told her not to fret, that they were probably just having one for the road before coming back, but she did not really believe him.

Finally, the door opened, and Cormick, Casavir and Shandra all walked through.

Kayla threw herself at Casavir and took his hand.

"I'm sorry, Cas!" she said breathlessly. "I didn't want to leave you there, but everybody wanted to leave, and we couldn't find you. Cormick said I couldn't wait for you, so he waited, and I came back here. Are you all right?"

He shook his head and blinked at her.

"Forgive me, my lady," he said. Kayla thought his voice sounded thick. "I was lost."

"See, Cormick!" she rounded on the marshal. "I told you he just took a wrong turn."

"I'll say he did," Cormick agreed.

"Er... I guess you went somewhere you weren't supposed to go?" she asked apologetically. He would be rattled, had he walked in on some of the services the Mask provided, in the privacy of its back rooms.

"You might say that," Cormick answered for him. Casavir looked faint.

"Come on, Cas," she said, taking his hand again, "sit down at the table and let me get you an ale. I won't make you go back there again, I promise."

"Thank you, my lady," he said, taking his hand back, "but I should rather retire."

He handed her the cloak and trudged off toward the stair. He paused, and looked back at her, his face unreadable, then continued heavily up the stair.

"How about you, Shandra?" she asked. "Cormick said you had something wrong with your dress."

"Yeah," Shandra sighed, sitting down in the chair, "but it's fixed now."

"That's good," Kayla said. "Sorry for dashing off without warning you, but Cormick said he'd walk you home."

"That's OK," Shandra replied. "It took quite a while to get everything sorted."

Kayla poured ale for herself, Shandra, Cormick, and Khelgar, then sat at the table with them.

"Are you all right, Cormick?" she asked. "You don't look like you had a lot of fun, tonight."

"I had a marvelous time dancing with you ladies," he said to herself and Shandra, "but I've got a bit of a headache now. I don't think I'll stay out much later, tonight."

"Well, thanks for seeing everyone home," she said, feeling rather confused.

Cormick got up and left his untouched ale on the table. Shandra drank her own, and Cormick's, too, then bid Kayla good night and went up to her room.

"We should have stayed home," Khelgar grumbled. "I'm going to bed."

Kayla sat alone at the table, looking at the stairs and wondering what in the nine hells had just happened.


	36. Laid Bare

_Disclaimer: Obsidian owns everyone but Kayla and Fa'iza. It's been a long time since we've had anything OC related... like 10 chapters. This will be remedied soon, but there's still two chapters to go before that._

* * *

With everyone gone to bed, Kayla sat at the bar, watching Duncan polish pewter tankards. She thought about asking him about a few important things, like the silver shard in her chest, or either of her parents, but she found she did not really care, right then.

"Got something for you," her uncle said. "Sal decided he was tired of walking up and down the stairs."

He passed a pair of keys across the bar. One was marked with a yellow ribbon, the other, blue.

"The blue one locks Casavir's door," Duncan said. "It's up to you whether you give him the yelow one or not, but I don't want to hear about any more free runs on the keg because you need Sal to go lock or unlock a door."

"Thanks, Uncle," she said absentmindedly. "But... does Casavir seem a little odd to you, lately?"

"You mean apart from that business with Shandra?" Duncan snorted.

"What 'business with Shandra'?" Kayla asked.

"Er... you know, with her catching him in the all-together and all," he said uncomfortably.

"Oh, that," Kayla shrugged. He could hardly be held accountable for being struck over the head, after all, and Shandra's involvement had not exactly been scandalous. Besides, that all blew over more than a month ago.

"No," she said, "I mean recently, like tonight."

"Dunno," Duncan scratched his scraggly beard. "What did he do that was so strange?"

"Well, you know Neesh took us to the Mask tonight, and Casavir was watching Cormick and I dance – don't look at me like that, I asked Cas and he said he'd rather watch – and next thing I know, I turn around and he's gone. Half a candle later, Neeshka's feet are sore, Grobnar's drunk, and Cas is still missing. Well, Cormick sent us all home and said he'd wait for Cas himself, and then he didn't come back here for over a candle. I'd call that pretty strange. You know how attentive Cas is, and for him to just disappear like that, something has to be wrong."

"Er... Kayla?" Duncan said slowly, "I want you to promise me something."

"Sure, Uncle Duncan," Kayla said reflexively.

"Don't ever ask Cas where he went," Duncan said promptly.

"If you say so," she agreed reluctantly. "But why?"

"Er... you went to the Mask, right?" Duncan repeated the obvious. "Rich food, at the Mask, and you know that man's got a sensitive stomach."

"You've got to be joking," Kayla snorted. "Cas ate about half a pound of sausage and the same of bacon yesterday. He taught me to cook lizard, for crying out loud, and he eats Sal's cooking every single day. Don't tell me he's got a sensitive stomach."

"Well, now, that's all plain, honest food," Duncan said. "Don't know about the lizard, but you can't get much more wholesome than sausage or bacon. Point is, he isn't used to all those sauces and gravies, and you know he never drinks much. Put a load of rich food and half a bottle of wine in the belly of a man with a weak gut, and, well, small wonder if he goes off by himself for a while."

"You might have a point," Kayla said, feeling very relieved, suddenly. "Dinner was very rich, too. Poor Cas... I wonder if I should go up and see if he's all right."

"Trust me, lass," Duncan said, looking relieved himself, "he doesn't want any company, right now. He'll be fine, just leave him alone until morning. And I wouldn't mention it, if I were you. A man doesn't like to be reminded of things like that."

"Right," Kayla agreed. "I won't say a word."

"Good girl," Duncan patted her hand. "Now I'm off to bed. Don't keep our Sal up too late, you hear?"

"Yes, uncle," she smiled.

Sal was already turning the chairs up onto the tables. Kayla was just about to turn for the stairs herself when Bishop appeared at her elbow, a tankard in either hand. He passed one to her and took a long pull from his own.

"So," he drawled, "do you mean to tell me you believed what that old fool told you?"

"What?"

"I know where the paladin went," Bishop said. "Want to hear?"

"What is this information going to cost me?" Kayla asked warily.

"This one's on the house," he said around a rather reptilian smile. "Just sit down and have a drink... on me."

She sat down and took a cautious sip from her tankard, vaguely wondering if he drugged it.

"So where did he go?" Kayla asked. She felt like she was betraying her uncle, but she had promised that she would not ask Casavir where he went. She never said anything about Bishop. Besides, if Bishop's story was too ridiculous, she did not have to believe it.

"Drink up, Princess," he said. "It's going to take a while to work up to the punchline. And don't worry, I'm not trying to get in your smalls. I got my fill of wenches at the Mask."

"Anyway," Bishop went on, "you had a nice, posh meal and some fancy wine, and you know your boy can't hold his drink. Well, he's feeling pretty mellow, but the wine just keeps on coming, and there's all these pretty ladies in clingy dresses, waving their tits, right at eye level. Trust me, Princess, there's only one reason a man wants to watch women dance, and it isn't because he's got a thing for tafeta.

"Thing is, all those women are there to dance, especially since they keep going back again and again and again, when there's plenty of men around who wouldn't mind a screw.

"Well, you know paladins are horny bastards. Comes from keeping it all bottled up all the time. Poor idiots can't even jerk off. Anyway, he's all snug and comfy in his chair, and half-drunk besides, and he's been watching tits and asses all night, so he's got a bit of a pressure problem.

"He isn't going to go polluting one of his fine ladies with his rutting, so he's in a bit of a bind. Lucky for him, he's in a glorified whorehouse. So, he goes to scope out his prospects, when who should he stumble upon but a nice, plump little tart with tits that go into a room a quarter candle before the rest of her.

"'Let me sing you a lullaby,' she says, and next thing you know, he's off to her room with a prick that would drive nails.

"Looks like your holy man polished his sword, Princess. Don't cry, I'll console you."

"You've got some imagination," Kayla snorted. She put her unfinished ale on the table and left him sitting there staring after her.

Once in her room, Kayla put on her nightgown, braided her hair, and went resolutely to bed, fully intending to follow Duncan's advice.

Sleep would not come. Duncan's explanation left her anxious. The thought that Casavir might be lying in his bed, wracked with indigestion and thinking nobody even cared upset her. She knew him too well to discredit her uncle's suggestion. Casavir would suffer in silence, rather than ruin her evening. He never had any natural disease, so he had been even more uncomfortable than he might otherwise have been, the few times in the past when Sal's cooking had unsettled his stomach. How much worse was he now, with a belly full of unfamiliar food? She wanted to go to him, despite her uncle's assertions that she should not.

But suppose Bishop had the truth of it? Suppose Casavir had succumbed to the needs he had so long denied? She knew that giving in to them would place his calling in jeopardy. If he was forbidden to take comfort in the arms of a lover, how much worse would it be for him to even contemplate paying for the pleasure?

What a foolish, unnecessary restriction! People needed physical, as well as emotional, closeness to be whole and healthy. A person who tried to survive on only half the food he needed would eventually sicken. How could a person be expected to live while denying himself half of his other needs? Lathander certainly asked no such sacrifice of his servants. She would have been encouraged to marry and start a family, had she remained in West Harbor, and had she elected not to marry, but start a family anyway, or even just take casual company, the villagers might quibble, but there was nothing in her religion that forbade it. Tyrians, it seemed, were not so uninhibited.

Still, he was what he was, and his faith was an integral part of his identity. He might not be as free as she, but she had to respect his beliefs. They made up his soul.

If he had... strayed... tonight, she might even be to blame. Their evening together the night before had been chaste, but it had been one of sensual pleasure. Tonight, she had all but forced him to go to a place that virtually exuded sexual liberty. He was unused to temptation of that magnitude, and she had subjected him to it in the face of his protests. If he Fell, it would be her fault.

One way or another, she had to go to him. She put on her robe over her nightgown, thrust her feet into her slippers, and set out to do what she could for him, if Duncan had the truth of it... or console him until he could atone, if Bishop did.

* * *

Casavir closed and locked the door behind himself. He did not light the lamp, but opened the shutters to let the moonlight into the room.

He looked at his bed, but there would be no sleep for him, tonight. He stripped to his shirt and his smalls and positioned his fire-screen on the floor. He had much to atone for. It was not yet midnight, so he might take all night, if he wished.

He did not wince as he knelt upon the grating, but turned his thoughts to the prayers that would center him, and open the conduit to the infinite. With that accomplished, he confessed his sins.

_I have sinned against Shandra,_ he prayed. _I have taken advantage of her receptive state and used her as a proxy for another as the object of my lust. I have debased her virtue and violated her person. I have hurt her, in confessing that my ardor was intended for another, though in that, honesty compelled me to speak._

_I have sinned against myself,_ he continued. _I have allowed myself to become polluted with animal lust, and I have disregarded my vows. I sought neither to fulfill the needs of another nor to father a child. I sought only my own carnal gratification. To facilitate this licentiousness, I allowed myself to become addled with drink to the point where my will weakened._

_I have sinned against my lady,_ he concluded. _I have made her the object of my lust... and I have... violated her in my mind..._

His concentration was broken by a knock on the door. He got up to answer it without thinking, then paused with his hand on the latch. The last few times he had assumed that only The Lady would ask admittance to his room, it had, in fact, been someone very different. He might keep the caller waiting a moment while he made himself decent. He pulled on his discarded leggings, scowling at the bloodstains from his knees. He put the fire-screen back in front of the fireplace and turned the key in the lock.

His preparations were not in vain. It was Shandra.

"I need to talk to you about something," she said, her voice flat. "Can I come in?"

"Yes," he said, opening the door wider, then closing it behind her.

"Listen, Cas," she said, "I'm really angry with you. You had no right to treat me like that."

"You are right, Shandra," he admitted heavily, "I did not. I am profoundly sorry for having so little regard for your honor."

"Screw my honor!" she snorted. "It's my feelings you're pissing on."

He sighed.

"Yes, Shandra," he agreed. "I have treated you shamefully, and I can only beg your forgiveness."

"Yeah, you keep saying that," Shandra said. "You've been asking my forgiveness since I met you, and you know what? You still treat me like shit. I thought you guys were supposed to be the be-all and end-all of compassion, but you don't give a gibberling fart about anybody that isn't your precious Kayla."

"Shandra, that is untrue," he said. "I care deeply for the wellbeing of all her companions -"

"Do you even listen to the words coming out of your mouth?" She accused him, and he feared that she might be right. "When we went up against those pirates, do you want to know why I had two of the bastards on me? It was because none of them wanted to go near the two of you. You stood over her like a gods-damned tower shield, and I got hacked to bits. She doesn't need you, Cas. She knows how to fight pirates."

He opened his mouth to deny it, but closed it again. She was right. He was neglecting his duty to the rest of her companions. That, at least he might remedy.

"You are right, Shandra," he said. "I had not been aware of that failing, but I now see that I have done what you say. I shall be more attentive in the future."

"I'll believe it when I see it," she said. "But that isn't the only thing. When we were talking to Cormick, and before, the pair of you were so worried about Kayla, you forgot I was even there. It wasn't bad enough that you were leading me on, but you and Cormick both were more worried about Kayla's feelings, and she wasn't even there. She doesn't know what you did, and she never will, but I'll have to live with that for the rest of my life. I can't tell you how great it feels, knowing that making love to me was the biggest mistake you ever made."

"I spoke in madness, Shandra," he said. "I should not have said that. I may only excuse it by saying that I feared I had damned myself with my behavior."

She snorted.

"Now that's a lie!" she said. "You didn't start thinking about that until later."

"Perhaps... and it was also fallacious," he said. "Thinking about it rationally, I have made one even more grievous error in judgment, at least, though that is no comfort to you. Shandra, I cannot excuse my behavior toward you. I would undo it, if I could, for your sake, more than anyone else's, but I cannot. I wish I might make things right with you, but I do not know how."

"You can start treating me like a human being," she said. "Kayla isn't the only one with feelings."

"I know," he sighed. "I have no excuse, but I ask that you might forgive Cormick. Shandra, you must remember that you and I are newcomers, to him, but he has known her since her birth. Their close friendship might predate ours by no more than a few months, but he has memories of her from her first steps, and he spends nearly every day in her company. He has few real friends, for all that he has been in Neverwinter since the wars, else he would not spend so much time at the Flagon with her, nor would he seek her company even when he is not working. You must forgive him if he values the feelings of a woman he has known and respected since infancy over those of a woman he has just met."

"Oh, and that just excuses everything!" she laughed, though there was no mirth in it.

Casavir shook his head.

"I have no answer to that," he said. "If you want one, you must speak with him yourself, though that might be difficult, unless you wish this evening's disaster to become public knowledge."

"No," Shandra sighed, her anger deflating, "I don't want that. It's bad enough that I know what happened, I sure don't want anyone else to find out. But you can't exactly lie about it, can you?"

"No, I cannot," he sighed. "Nor am I comfortable deceiving her with my silence. Yet in keeping it, I am more conscious of your comfort than my own. I do not want her to think you wanton for having the misfortune of being the victim of my sin."

Shandra stared at him. He could not understand why that should be so hard to believe, but Shandra apparently found it so.

"Well, I've said all I wanted to say," Shandra said. "I don't feel any better about this whole thing, but I don't see how I could."

"I know, Shandra," he said, "nor do I, but there is little more I can do than apologize again. Sleep well, if you can. I still have my peace to make with Tyr."

"Don't beat yourself up too badly," Shandra said. "I'm pissed at you now, but I'll get over it. You're only human. Good night."

He closed the door behind her, removed his leggings, and knelt back down on the fire-screen. His conversation with Shandra had been just long enough for the pain in his knees to recede, so he felt the bite of the metal on his still-raw skin with fresh intensity. This gave him some satisfaction. Numbness should not blunt the pain of his penance.

Four candles later, he was almost at the point where he felt that he might perhaps have knelt there long enough when there was another, much softer knock on the door, followed by the unmistakable _snick_ of a key in the lock. His head whipped around, but it was too late.

The Lady stood on the threshold, the rushlight in her hand illuminating her surprised face... and his own form, kneeling on the firescreen.

He lurched to his feet, but his mutinous legs gave out, and he collapsed on the floor.

"Oh, Cas!" she cried, flying to him. She knelt beside him. She set her lamp down and extended her hands, but he pushed them away.

"Do not, my lady," he begged her. "Please, do not rob me of my penance."

"This isn't penance, Cas," she said in horror, "it's self-mutilation. Your knees..."

"This is not even half of what I owe," he said.

"Oh, Cas!" she sobbed. She gathered him into her arms, but he pushed her away.

"My lady, do not touch me," he gasped. "I do not deserve your mercy."

"Merciful gods, Bishop was right," she breathed. She looked at him in silence for a moment, then smiled. "And you were wrong."

"My lady?" Casavir shook his head. Something was wrong with his ears. She was not making sense.

"Duncan thought the rich food you ate upset your stomach," she explained. "He thought you left us while you suffered the worst of it. He made me promise to leave you alone, and not to ask you where you went. He said you would not be comfortable talking about it, and that you wouldn't want the company. Bishop thought you... well, he thought you availed yourself of a prostitute."

The Lady was blushing crimson, but she smiled at him.

"And you wouldn't be kneeling on your fire-screen over a case of indigestion," she went on, "so... well... Anyway, Cas, don't you understand? You haven't Fallen. Your powers are still just as strong as they ever were."

Casavir looked away. She knew half, but not all. She thought he lay with a whore, and that he had done so without penalty. She did not know about Shandra.

He had two choices. He might allow her to continue to think... what she thought, or he might tell her the truth, and drag Shandra into his guilt. It humiliated him, to allow her to think he had used a prostitute, but it shamed only himself. She would have no reason to think any less of Shandra. Pride was a vice, not a virtue. He would be silent as to the identity of his companion.

"My lady..." he said, hanging his head, "I was weak. Forgive me."

"You don't need my forgiveness, Casavir," she said. "You have not done anything wrong. Don't you see? Tyr has not abandoned you."

He sighed.

"Tyr has not abandoned me because I never... " he paused. How could he tell her what he had done, and how close he had come to breaking his vows? "My lady, I was only spared because I did not complete what I had started. I... was interrupted, and came to my senses before I had transgressed too far to be forgiven."

"Oh," she said, slumping back against the side rail of his bed, but she took his hand. He tried to pull it back, but she resisted. He gave up, and let her hold it.

"I want you to know that I don't think any less of you," she said at last. "You are human, Cas, and you have needs, even if you deny them. Still, I can't believe that Tyr would be so cruel. Are you certain that you are allowed no relief?"

"My lady, pray forgive me if I am reluctant to talk about that with you," he said. Yet there she knelt, holding the hand of a man she believed had been prevented from lying with a whore only by the timely arrival of an unknown intruder. She deserved at least part of an answer, but he could not even give her that much.

She sighed, and looked at him intently, but there was pity in her gaze. Her mercy was almost unbearable, but he was grateful for it.

_"If you aren't going to court her, let her go,"_ Cormick had said. He had intended to obey, but now that she held his hand and looked on him so kindly, he could not bear to do it... yet. He knew he must not give her false promises, but must he reject even her compassion?

"Cas, will you please let me heal you?" she asked. "You can't even walk."

"No," he said. "I will be fit enough, once I walk off the stiffness."

"Then we're going for a walk," she said. "But let me bandage them, at least. You're all bloody."

He got his arms under himself and pushed himself onto his bed. She rooted around in his pack until she found his healer's kit, and spread it out on the blanket beside him. Water splashed into the basin on the washstand, then the dribble of a cloth being wrung out over it. She entered his field of vision again, and sat on the bed next to him, dabbing a wet washcloth on his legs and tut-tutting over the damage.

"I think you should see this," she said. He sat up and obediently looked at his knees. They were raw, as he knew they would be, and bruised, as well, with a double cross-hatch of cuts where the wire had pierced the skin. He had expected no different. He lay back down and waited for her to complete her ministrations.

"Cas, what would you say, if you found me looking like this?" She sounded exasperated.

"I would not like it," he said. "I would be angry, that you should damage yourself without need. But you have not done what I have done."

"Maybe not," she said, "but that's only because no gold changed hands. I'm no maiden, Casavir."

He stared at her. His hearing was going, he was certain of it.

"No," he said at last. "You are a lady. I know you are virtuous."

"And so are you," she said firmly. He just shook his head.

She had begun to bind pads of muslin to his legs with gauze. Her training patching scraped knees, at least, was evident. She knew precisely how tight to wrap the bandages to prevent their slipping, but still allow comfortable movement... if such a thing were possible, right now. He could not feel his feet or calves, and his thighs burned. His zeal, perhaps, might have been excessive. Still, the ache while they healed would remind him of his duty, and the dangers of distraction.

"I think you should lie here a little longer before your walk," she said. "It isn't the cuts. They're ugly, but not dangerous. You're a soldier. You know what you've found, when a wounded man has lain too long in one position, and his muscles swell and fill with poison, and you know what happened when he tried to get up too soon, and the poison was released into the blood too quickly. Your calves feel too warm, to me, and look swollen. I should rather you rest here a while... a long while... before you try walking."

Casavir did know. He had seen it on the battlefield. The man would be bandaged, and would rise, only to succumb to the poison in his veins. What surprised him was that she should know of it.

"When did you learn this?" he asked.

"I grew up around farmers," she said. "A man can be trapped under a wagon as easily as he can fall to a sword, or easier. You'd be surprised what you can learn, on a farm."

"Indeed," he said, but he obeyed her. He felt good, lying there with her tending him. Her touch soothed him, and made him drowsy. He forgot everything but the warmth of her touch and the serenity that radiated from her.

She covered him with a blanket, then slipped under it to lie beside him. He was so sleepy, he did not even protest it, but took her hands, kissed her forehead, and closed his eyes. He felt the weight of her arms about his body, but that, too, brought a welcome stillness to his soul.

"My lady?" he roused himself enough to speak. "How did you enter my room?"

"Sal ordered some keys," she said. "I'll keep yours, if you don't mind, and mine is on your washstand."

"Ah," he murmured, and sank deeper into sleep. He was vaguely aware that the pain in his legs lessened, but he was too weary and too content to do more than nuzzle his way deeper into her embrace and drift. He felt her lips on his forehead, and her arms about his shoulders, and he knew nothing more.

* * *

Kayla lay in Casavir's embrace... or maybe it would be more accurate to say that he lay in hers, but the point was that he was sleeping, and his mind was easy.

She held him tenderly, living in the softness that enveloped them both. When he slept, he was like a babe, trusting and innocent, and she savored the moment. He awoke a tenderness within her. He was so strong, so brave, and so very, very human, it made her heart ache. He was everything a man should be, certainly, but he needed her, even as he protected her. For all that she desired him, and she did, he stirred something in her that she never thought she could feel for another human being.

She cared about him. She wanted him to be whole, to laugh, if the spirit moved him, or to be silent, if it did not. Even if she never made love to him, she wanted him to be happy.

All things must end, be they good or ill, and the night was almost spent. The sky through Casavir's open window was lightening, and she must leave him, reluctant as she was to do it. She felt guilty about healing him when she told him that she would not, but her fears had been justified. The constriction of kneeling had restricted the flow of blood to his lower legs, and while sleep might allow the poisoned blood in them to flow back into his body slowly enough to pose no danger to him, the risk was not worth his life. She wanted to tell him what she had done, but he needed his sleep, and she needed to get up to make her devotions.

Once she had given thanks for the dawn and offered her adoration to her god, she dressed quickly and set out for the Halls of Justice in the Merchant District. She could eat her breakfast while she worked, but her need to talk to a priest of Tyr was urgent. She was sure that Casavir's vows had never included anything as unhealthy as complete abstinence, but only a cleric of his own faith might answer her questions.

The lay brothers at the door of the temple greeted her with the formulaic salutation of doorwardens everywhere. On explaining that she wished to speak with a chaplain of paladins, she was directed to an office down a corridor toward the rear of the temple. She sat alone for perhaps a quarter candle, but it was still very early. Tyrians were not obliged to rise at dawn, so perhaps the chaplain was not yet awake.

She rose when a woman entered the office. She was not what Kayla had expected, but she sat at the desk and wished her a pleasant good morning, so she must be the chaplain. She was a handsome woman of middle years, perhaps, whose glossy black hair and olive skin proclaimed foreign ancestry.

"Good morrow, my daughter," the woman began, "or perhaps I should say 'my cousin,' as I see that you are a servant of the Morning Lord. I am Fa'iza, and I offer spiritual guidance to the paladins of the Order."

Kayla took a deep breath. Now that the chaplain was in front of her, she had no idea how to go about asking her about a paladin's sexual habits. At least the cleric was a woman. She would have been even more uneasy, had the chaplain been male.

"I'm Kayla... of Lathander, as you said," Kayla said. "I have some concerns about the spiritual wellbeing of one of my companions. He is a paladin of Tyr, and he is beside himself with guilt over something he did last night."

"That is unfortunate," Fa'iza said. "It would have been better to have brought him here to confess the matter himself. Is there a reason he did not accompany you?"

"He was sleeping when I left," Kayla explained, "and he doesn't know I came. I don't think he would have come, anyway. He left the Order a number of years ago, and I don't think he's ready to come back here yet."

"I see," the older woman nodded. "It is unlikely, then, that I would know him. I came to Neverwinter from Calimport after the wars. Still, we do not abandon our brothers in faith, even if they choose to leave our home for a while. What has he done to inspire so much unease?"

Kayla swallowed. This was less easy than she hoped it might be.

"He kept company with a prostitute last night," she said. "He did not lie with her, but he had come very close to doing it, and he feels that he only narrowly escaped Falling, as a result. There is no chastity vow."

"Hmmm," the chaplain mused, "his behavior was not honorable, but he would not have Fallen if he did lie with her. A paladin Falls because he has committed an evil act, not because he has indulged his lust in an inappropriate, yet lawful, way. Had he taken a woman by force, or slain an innocent, he would have Fallen, but not by visiting a prostitute."

"Thank you for telling me that," Kayla said, and meant it. "I did not think Tyr could be so cruel."

"Tyr is not a cruel god," Fa'iza smiled, "though he is a just one. As for the chastity vow, few take them. I know of only one that has uttered such an oath, and the woman had reasons of her own for shunning male attention. Intercourse between a man and a woman is not forbidden, or between two people of the same gender, but it is preferred that the parties involved should be in a loving, lawful union. No, the only sin involved in what he did, or attempted to do, was that coin was exchanged. When there is no equality, no sharing, in the act, it becomes selfish, and that is discouraged. He would have been better relieving his tensions alone."

"I see," Kayla said. "What you are saying sounds very reasonable. I was wondering about something else, though. I do not know if you are acquainted with my faith, but we believe that physical intimacy is essential for maintaining emotional contentment. I'm not saying that we're slaves to our urges, or anything, but it's really hard to concentrate on your prayers when you're so distracted."

"A fit, serene body is the best house for a spirit of any faith," Fa'iza agreed, nodding, "though some in my care have difficulty understanding that, it would seem. I would ask that you forgive him, though. By nature, paladins see things as white or black, good or evil. They often have difficulty perceiving when shades of gray are lighter than they are dark. For example, a paladin is permitted to lie with his partner as often as required to maintain his tranquility, but if he has no wife, he is free to seek relief with a willing party. Since it is less desirable than bedding a spouse, many reject the practice, and suffer as a result. Would it be wrong for a starving man to eat a cake because he had no bread? Of course not, but many of my brethren would rather go hungry."

"This conversation has been very informative," Kayla said. "I have absolutely no idea how I'm going to tell him what you just told me, but I thank you for taking the time to explain it so thoroughly."

"Is he dear to you?" Fa'iza asked her delicately.

"He is a close friend," Kayla answered, reluctant to commit to a less ambiguous answer. It looked like she hardly needed to, though, because Fa'iza nodded sagely and smiled at her in compassion.

"You have been a very good friend to him, to seek counsel on such an important, but sensitive matter," Fa'iza said. "If you tell me where I might direct a letter, I should be pleased to spare you the discomfort of retelling my advice, and write him myself."

Kayla gave the address of the Sunken Flagon and left Fa'iza's office far happier than she had been when she went into it. Casavir might be angry with her for telling a stranger, but he would be comforted to know that he had not risked Falling, after all.

* * *

Casavir ate his breakfast alone. It was late, only a candle before noon. He had slept through the time when he was supposed to be practicing with Shandra, but The Lady would forgive him for neglecting her training, today. Khelgar had taken his place, and waved him away when he went to join them.

"I've got it covered here, today," Khelgar said. "Duncan said you had a rough time of it, last night, with the belly gripes, so just take it easy this morning and get something bland in you to settle your gut."

Casavir had obeyed him gratefully. His stomach was fine, but he still felt drained. The Lady had healed him, but he could not bring himself to be angry with her for it. Her capacity for compassion astonished him, and it would have been wrong of him to reject her sympathy.

He was baffled by the appearance of a messenger in temple colors. The boy went to Sal and spoke a few words. Perhaps the messenger was here for Khelgar. The dwarf wanted to be a monk, after all. It was possible that The Lady had made inquiries about the process. But no, Sal pointed at him! The messenger came to him and extended a thick letter sealed with blue wax. He handed the boy a few strawberries as thanks for delivering the letter, the last of The Lady's gift. He had no cakes to give him, and none of the boys would take coin as payment.

He broke the seal and read the first few lines anxiously. What could the temple want with him?

_"To my brother in faith, greetings,"_ he read. _"This morning, I have had the pleasure of meeting with your companion, who has told me of your struggles. I beg you will not be angry with her, as she has only your spiritual welllbeing at heart."_

He groaned. She had the audacity to broadcast his shame to the entire Temple of Tyr. He wanted to crawl under the table and die of it. But no, she had acted in what she thought were his best interests, and if she spoke with a priest, the man would not repeat it. Also, the letter writer greeted him as a "brother in faith," not by name. She had not identified him. He kept reading.

_"I write to remind you of your vows, which are less tyrannical, perhaps, than you remember. You are sworn to uphold justice, and the tenets of your faith, none of which require you to refrain from seeking or accepting female company, provided you do so lawfully, and with the happiness of both parties in mind. _

_"The practice of our faith requires serenity of both body and spirit, and neither is possible when one represses what is natural. Therefore, I do not counsel you to abstain, but rather to find some more wholesome way of maintaining your tranquility._

_"You are free to marry, as I am sure you are aware. Physical relations between loving spouses is, by far, the most desirable outlet for libidinous urges, but the unwed are not forbidden to find satisfaction for those needs. You are permitted to seek gratification with a willing partner, provided you act responsibly and in moderation. You should, of course, refrain from excess, and from accepting the offers of those who will take coin in exchange for granting your relief. There is no sin in the act, but there is no virtue in such an unequal exchange. If that is your only recourse, you should seek solitude, instead._

_"I do not know you, brother, but I do not deem you so bereft of friends that such measures might be necessary. Is there no one close to you whom you might rather have as a lover?_

_"Peace be with you. Your sister in faith, Fa'iza, Chaplain."_

_One more shield gone,_ he thought. He might no longer claim that he abstained because it was forbidden. Still, he must not give in to the temptation she presented. When he allowed himself to think with his heart, disaster followed. Would he find himself bearing another dead man across his saddle on his way to the gallows? Would he ruin another life? No, he must spare her from that, at all costs. The Duty required that he serve her and keep her safe... especially from himself. He was a danger to those he who became close to him, so he must not allow it to happen to her. She was too dear to him to allow the risk.

It was nearly noon. He must pray, and he would rest, and meditate on ways that he might keep his sanity while preserving her virtue... and her life.

He concluded his prayers and looked at his bed. He would have time for a nap, perhaps, after he meditated. He stripped naked and climbed into bed, lying on his belly, enjoying the feel of the cool, smooth linen against his skin. Her scent still lingered on the pillow where she had rested her head the night before. She had held him here, in his bed, and soothed away all his cares. Her touch brought healing to his body, but also to his soul. In her embrace, he might have been as uncorrupted as she.

He would never make love to her, he knew, but if he did, that would be how he would do it, gently, tenderly, not at all like the mad, savage assault he had made on Shandra. He really had not been himself, to imagine that he would treat The Lady with such violence, even in the throes of passion. He would cover her face with kisses, and worship her body with his fingertips. He would prolong their embrace for eternity, if he could bear it, and savor each moment. Then, when he did lie upon her, he would take her slowly, and live in the pleasure of that softer, more intimate embrace until at last...

He could bear it no longer.

_Tyr help me,_ he moaned, _I am a lost cause. Well, my sister in faith, Fa'iza, chaplain, you may be content. You advised me to seek solitude, and that is just what I have done._

He closed his eyes and slept.

* * *

_Author's note: Compartment syndrome, that Casavir might have suffered after kneeling all night, is a real medical condition, and it is caused by lying too long in one position, or by having blood flow to extremities limited by compression, as would be caused by having one's legs pinned in an automobile or farm accident. Arterial pressure is enough to allow blood to flow into the affected areas, but venous blood flow is not enough to get it back out. The muscles swell and produce lactic acid. Too much of it released into the body all at once can kill. Modern medical treatment involves an injection of sodium bicarbonate to neutralize the lactic acid, if the paramedics arrive before the patient must be transported, but if that isn't possible, the best thing for the first responders to do is to keep the patient as immobile as possible, so that the lactic acid is reabsorbed slowly. If you're curious, lactic acid is also the blood chemical that makes muscles burn after too much exercise._


	37. Sacrifices

_Disclaimer: Obsidian owns everybody but Kayla. Since I just realized that I'm not supposed to give direct quotes in stories, I'm paraphrasing instead, but the dialogue between Kayla and Duncan should look at least vaguely familiar._

* * *

Cormick made the rounds of the Merchant District Watch posts on the way to the office, so Kayla had beat him there. At least she had the decency to put the coffee on.

"Rough morning?" she greeted him.

"Not really," Cormick shrugged. "Everybody showed up for work last night, for a change, so two posts were overstaffed, but it's better than the other way around. I don't know about you, but I just can't wait to dive into that sea of paperwork today. Gods, I miss walking the beat."

"If you say so," she said. She got up and poured him some coffee from the pot by the fire. It was too warm in here for the fire, really, but they kept it going just so they'd have coffee when they wanted it. It ate up a fair portion of the Watch's discretionary income, but it was worth it.

They worked for most of the day in silence, scribbling their names on the bottoms of pay vouchers, looking over contracts, sometimes arguing with workmen over stupid things that bored Cormick no end. At least he could ignore that part. He wasn't really responsible for the new Watch building, so he need not pay attention, but it amused him to listen to Kayla fielding their questions and trying to avoid being bored to death.

"Can you believe the glazier wants eight silvers a pane?" Kayla asked, cutting through his reverie.

"Glass is expensive," Cormick shrugged. "It's the single biggest line item in our budget, after the stonemasons. Did we allow enough?"

"If we don't have more than five percent breakage, we do," she said. "Can you believe he's charging us for panes he breaks, too?"

"Whoa, now, that can't be good," he protested. "Is that in the contract?"

"We're just drawing it up now," she said. "This is the first draft. Should we cap it at five?"

"I'd cap it at two," he said. "He won't sign it like that, but you'll wind up capped at five, that way. If a glazier breaks one pane in twenty, just getting it into its frame, he needs to find a new line of work. Small as those panes are, it's still over five panes per window."

"There's a hundred panes in a window?" Kayla asked, blinking.

"Well, the panes are a little under four inches square, and the windows are two foot by six foot, so you do the math. I get a hundred and twelve panes per window."

"Uh, Cormick?" she raised an eyebrow. "I get a hundred and eight."

"See?" he smiled. "That's why you're in charge of building construction."

"You set me up for that, didn't you?" she laughed.

"I'm not telling," he smiled. "Get me some more coffee, would you?"

"Get it yourself, lazybones!" she laughed. "You need the exercise."

He snorted his contempt for a subordinate that was so insubordinate, but poured her a cup while he was there. She never got to drink it hot, though. A runner came in with an urgent message that she was needed in Bloom Street at once, so she went out to see what the problem was.

When she returned a candle later, she was pleased to report that the "problem" was nothing more than a drunk who was teasing some Academy students, and he'd been only too happy to move along rather than spend the rest of the day in a cell.

After that, it was nothing but more paperwork for the rest of the day. It was getting to be late afternoon, and Cormick was just starting to think that maybe he'd better check in with his day shift before the night crew came on duty when Kayla broke the silence.

"Sorry to put you out, last night," she said.

"Hmm?"

"Making you wait at the Mask, and all," she explained.

"Oh, horrors!" he laughed. "I had to spend half a candle looking at ladies in silk gowns waving their goods in my face. How will I ever get over it? Er... speaking of which... how was Cas, this morning?"

"I don't know," she said. "He was still sleeping when I left. He had a rough night, though. He didn't fall asleep until nearly daybreak."

"I bet," Cormick grunted. That annoyed the hells out of him. That lucky bastard had a gem of a woman only an arm's length away, and he had to go rutting with Shandra. Shandra was prettier than Kayla, maybe, and she certainly had a better body, but Kayla was a better prospect for him, and Kayla could put up with his shit.

"Do you know what happened last night?" Kayla asked him softly.

"You might say that," Cormick answered evasively. He knew what happened perfectly well, but he wasn't sure what Casavir had told her.

"Were you the one that walked in on him?" she asked.

Cormick blinked. Had he really told her that? He knew that paladins couldn't lie, but he couldn't believe that he would have told her the whole truth and that she could still be so calm about it.

"What did he tell you?" Cormick asked. If she was paying attention, she would realize that chances were good that anything he said after this was a lie, that he was covering for Casavir, but he didn't have a lot of choice. Any lies he told would be on the paladin's conscience, since he was the one that forced Cormick to do it in the first place.

"He didn't really tell me anything," Kayla said. "Bishop said he saw Casavir go off with a prostitute and when I went to talk to him about it, he admitted it. He said that he was interrupted before he could lie with her. That was you, wasn't it, that walked in on him?"

Cormick nodded, impressed that the paladin had managed to pull that one off. He hadn't told her about Shandra, after all, and Cormick was just as glad, and the way she phrased the question, he didn't have to lie about Shandra, either.

"They were in that room the whole time, weren't they?" she asked. "When you went to go get my cloak."

Cormick nodded again.

"I'm sorry, Kayla," he said. "I didn't want to deceive you."

"No, it's all right," Kayla sighed. "It's better, this way."

"Are _you_ all right?" Cormick asked. She was taking this all very well, but he had seen the way she looked at Casavir. She wasn't pressuring the paladin, which was probably for the best, but even Cormick could see that she loved the man, for whatever mad reason. "Bishop said he was with a whore, after all."

"He isn't mine to begin with," Kayla said. "And I wouldn't expect _you_ to fault a man for doing what he did."

"Point taken," Cormick laughed. That was the end of that, at least as far as Casavir was concerned. He was still a bit uneasy about his own relationship with Kayla, but he didn't even know where to start with that one.

He wanted her to be happy. She was his friend, and he wished her every conceivable joy. She should have her paladin, and her cottage in the swamp, if that's what she wanted, and her half-dozen children, and a floppy-eared dog, too. Why not? If that was what her heart desired, she should have it.

The problem was that he had really enjoyed that evening they spent in his room. He hadn't always been forced to go to the Mask once a tenday just to get some female company that wasn't Jenna. Before he became an officer, he could spend a night at a tavern talking up the girls, and if one of them brought him home for a while, well, he'd do his best to make her glad she did. He'd had some good times, and so had they.

It was certainly simpler to go to the Mask, and he never had to worry that one of them would up and decide that he'd make a good husband, but it wasn't the same. With his tavern conquests, he had a responsibility to make sure they got as much out of it as he did, or more, if he didn't quite measure up. With the Mask girls, they knew where to touch, all right, and they acted like they enjoyed it, but they always had one eye on the candle, and when it burned past its mark, it was "Thanks for calling, handsome. Do come again" and out the door as soon as he could get his leggings up. And they never said anything worth listening to. Did she look Kara-Turan or Mulhorondi? He'd ask her about her home, and it was always "Oh, who cares? Tell me how I can please you."

The sad fact was that an officer of the Watch just could not chat up tavern wenches. He had a reputation to maintain, whether on duty or off, and the Mask sold discretion along with its fine dinners and easy company. Besides, it might not have been as good as he remembered. He'd always been too quick, and he had not been lying to Kayla when he told her that no one had ever choked on him. And every once in a while, he'd found the one girl in every tavern that was positive she'd find her soul mate at the bottom of the fifth tankard. Sometimes, they would follow him around for days, sighing and asking him why he wouldn't come home to meet momma, and that made him feel like dirt.

Kayla wasn't like either of those. She was happy just being his friend, but she was good company, in bed or out of it. And "in bed" had been something really special. She wasn't a maiden, so at least he didn't have that on his conscience, but she sure felt like one, and watching her pleasure had done nothing but hasten his own. Some girls who didn't have much experience in bed would just lie there, waiting for something breathtaking, but she loved to be touched, and let him know it in no uncertain terms. Thinking about it made him more than ready for another go, but no, he couldn't do it now.

If she ever came to his bed again, it would be after she had worked through this current crisis with Casavir. Cormick might do for her as a fling, but her heart wasn't in it, and neither was his. Casavir, on the other hand, really did seem to love her, for all that he was a horse's ass, at times.

Still, it was worth a shot. She knew the difference between love and lust, and she seemed perfectly capable of keeping them separate, at least with him.

"Say," he ventured, "I don't suppose I could interest you in dinner at the Hart tonight, could I?"

"I can't say until I've talked to Cas," she said. "He'll have gotten a letter today that he didn't expect. There might be changes. On second thought, I won't be able to go. I won't know until I see him, and I won't see him until I get home from work. I can just see that one playing out. Me: 'So, Cas, about that letter you got from the chaplain... what do you say we duck up to your room?' Cas: 'I am sorry, my lady, but I have not yet overcome my reserve.' Me: 'Right. Well, I'm off to the Hart and Hind to have dinner with Cormick. Don't wait up.'"

Cormick laughed with her, but his conscience twinged at the truth in her words. He was taking something that really should belong to Casavir.

_Wait a bit..._ Cormick thought, _this is the same man that had Shandra's hand around his holy symbol just last night. If he hasn't bedded Kayla by now, a grant-of-leave from his chaplain isn't going to help. Fact is, he just isn't ready to take her as a lover. He'll get there, one of these days, but it isn't going to be any time soon._

"Why wait?" Cormick asked, feeling a bit guilty about encouraging an action that would only lead to disappointment. "You'll walk right by the Flagon on your afternoon rounds. I'm not going to moan if you're a candle late getting back."

It almost hurt to see how much she brightened at that suggestion.

_Poor kid,_ he thought. _She just doesn't understand that a man like Casavir doesn't just change his mind like that. He's got her up on that pedestal, and he isn't going to lay a hand on her until she either falls off or he climbs up, and his head's so far up his ass, I don't even think he knows which way "up" is, anymore._

"Really?" she beamed. "Thanks, Cormick!"

"Go on," Cormick waved her out the door. He watched her go. As much as he wanted her to be happy, he had a feeling that the next time he saw her coming back through it, she would be anything but. He might not be getting his roll in the linens later, but if she wanted to drink herself stupid, he could keep her company in that just as easily.

* * *

Casavir woke to a light touch on his forehead. Someone sat on his bed, brushing his hair off his face. He smelled apple blossoms... his dreams, coming true?...

He opened his eyes. The Lady sat beside him, stroking his face. He reached out and took her hand, and cradled it against his cheek, then sighed and closed his eyes again, drifting back toward sleep.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," she greeted him. "Have you slept all day?"

He blinked, and looked toward the window. It was still daylight, but it looked to be late. He shook his head to clear the sleep, and was suddenly intensely aware that he lay naked on his bed, with nothing but a thin linen sheet covering him... and that he lay in a half-dry puddle of his own seed. He retreated from her.

"Why are you here?" he stammered.

"I was making my rounds," she explained, "and I thought I'd check in on you."

She was half-naked herself. She'd stripped off armor and gambeson, and wore nothing but leggings and a sleeveless linen singlet. She lifted a corner of the sheet, and swung her legs up onto the bed.

"My lady, no!" he gasped, batting the linen back down around his body. "I am not dressed to receive visitors."

"It's just me, Cas," she said. "You did get that letter, didn't you?"

"Yes, I got the letter," he said, confused by her strange behavior. Was she acting some part? He knew that she did not take company, but here she was, in her undergarments, attempting to get into his bed. Did she know what the letter contained, and was she lowering herself to spare him from consorting with whores? That was one sacrifice he could not accept.

"My lady, this madness must end," he said firmly. "It is not in my nature to behave like this, nor is it in yours. You must go at once. I will speak with you in your room, when I have dressed appropriately. I suggest that you do the same. Please, let me compose myself."

She stared at him for a moment, then scooped up her discarded armor and gambeson and fled.

He sat, and covered his face with his hands. What had he done? That she should stoop so low, to offer herself like this... it was madness.

Yes, in his dreams, he imagined that he might take her. He had gone to his bed with his fantasies playing out in his mind, and he lay in the result. That shamed him. He should never have dared such...

It was _all_ madness. From that moment, two nights before, when he had been awed by her beauty and her tenderness... no, he must go further back. From day of their return to Neverwinter, he had courted her, even as he swore he would not, and now, he paid the price for his folly, and so did she. She had debased herself, coming to him while he slept, and in such undress, and for what? So that he might relieve the urges that tendays' worth of his licentious behavior had inspired... upon her body? He would sooner piss in a temple than cheapen her virtue.

She was not blameless in this, he knew. She tempted him deliberately, so she must bear at least some small fraction of the guilt, but he had driven her to it, with his courtly glances and... damn him to the nine hells, but he had wooed her. Regardless of what that harpy at the temple had said, he had no right.

He dressed quickly, but after he pulled on his boots, he sat still on the edge of his bed, imagining what he might say. After several moments of staring at his undone latchets, he still had no idea. In the past, he had always managed to offend her, when he voiced his reasons for keeping his distance from her. He did not want to ever endure another tenday like the one after they had rescued Shandra the second time. Yet how could he avoid it? He must be honest with her, but he must not hurt her again.

* * *

_What is wrong with him?_ Kayla wondered. _Doesn't he understand that he's allowed to be human?_

He would come to her, since he had said he would, but he would not do it as a lover. Something had gone wrong. There was no softness in his eyes, when he sent her away.

She sat at the table in her room and lay her head across her folded arms. She was dead tired, but it was not even sunset. She had not slept at all, the night before, and had been up late, many nights before that. Too many days of too little sleep were beginning to catch up with her. Maybe fatigue was making her imagine things. Maybe there was still hope...

No, she knew Casavir too well to put much faith in that. She had entertained Cormick with a possible dialogue between herself and Casavir, where he still rejected her because he had not yet overcome his reserve. She had not seriously expected that outcome, but it looked like that was exactly what was playing out in Casavir's mind. He just was not ready to take a lover. Perhaps he was afraid of becoming intimate with someone he knew. Regardless of the chaplain's advice, he was conditioned to think of physical love as something dirty. He might not want her to see that side of him.

She cast her memory back to her time with Bevil. She imagined his face, contorted as if he were in pain, while they made love. Now, she understood that it was not pain, but intense, unstoppable pleasure, but it was unlikely that Bevil would have wanted too many other people to see him like that. Could that be part of Casavir's problem? Did he not want her to see him caught up in his passion? No, that was unlikely. After all, how could he know what he looked like, right then, unless he brought a mirror to bed with him.

Well, if it was not the physical appearance of his pleasure-wracked self, he might still be reluctant to let her see him with his guard down. He liked to present a moderate, calm facade to the world. He disliked excess of any emotion.

He had needs, but he would probably prefer to expose what he would perceive as a weakness to a stranger, rather than to a friend.

She was back to her earlier thought. He did not want her to see that side of him. Maybe, he might trust her enough to allow that intimacy one day, but it was not going to be today.

_"It is not in my nature to behave like this,"_ he had said. He was right. He was a reserved man, and a shy one. No, she had been wrong to think that a letter from his chaplain would change that.

His face when he walked through her door was all the confirmation she needed that her suspicions were correct.

"My lady," he said, his voice grave, "I apologize. I have not been myself."

"I understand," she sighed.

He relaxed somewhat, and sat at the table with her.

"Do not reproach yourself," he said.

"I don't," she smiled. "You are what you are. Maybe someday..."

"Time will not change my nature, my lady," he said. There was no mistaking the finality of his tone.

She stared at him. He really meant it, she saw. Her heart broke. There would be no "tomorrow."

No, that was not possible. The sun would always rise, and a new day would always come. Today, he might say that his nature was unchanging, but that in itself was a lie. Droplets of water were soft and nearly insubstantial, yet in time, they would eat away a mountain. That was nature. The world was not the static, eternal edifice that Casavir imagined, but a living thing, that had its seasons... and its eons. Change might come slowly, perhaps even too slowly for it to matter, but it would not be held back forever. All things pass.

"I understand," she said again, calmly. She hid her hope from him. He would feel better about all this if she appeared to take everything he said as irrefutable fact. "Thank you for being so honest with me."

The shadow of mournful smile softened his face.

"In that, my lady," he said, "you may always depend."

She reached out to touch his hand, but changed her mind. Everything had its season, as she had just reminded herself, and the summer of their closeness had turned to winter. She was not sad... or not much. The soil needed winter, to rest and to nurture autumn's seeds, and maybe they needed this time, as well. Winter would end, and spring would come. She could wait.

He lay a key on the table, with a yellow ribbon tied around the top.

"I shall not need this," he said.

She fished the key to his room out of her belt pouch and passed it across the table.

"Then neither shall I," she said. He looked like he was about to protest, but he took the key.

"My lady..." he began.

"Sorry, Cas," she said, suddenly anxious to get away, "but I'm still working. I'll probably be home late, so it would probably be better for you if you didn't wait up."

She got up and started for the door.

"Your armor, my lady!" he reminded her sharply. She looked at it. For all that it was winter between them, it was still very much summer in Neverwinter, and that gambeson was hot.

"Forget the armor," she said. "It won't protect me from parchment cuts. I'll see you when I see you... probably tomorrow."

She left him sitting at her table.

Halfway to the Watch, she remembered that she now had both keys to her room. Oh, what did it matter? None of the Flagon's residents were likely to mess with her gear, and it really had felt good to just walk out on him like that. It was a childish indulgence, she knew, but Casavir really did irritate her, at times, for all that she would not do without him.

Tonight, she was going to forget all about Casavir and his inhibitions, and enjoy the company of somebody who did not have any reservations at all about mixing friendship with pleasure.

* * *

Cormick watched the door. Kayla had been gone quite some time, and the sky was darkening toward evening. His belly reminded him that it was getting close to dinnertime.

Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe Casavir was not the steaming mound of repression that he had imagined him to be... or maybe Kayla had run into trouble on her rounds. He could always take a quick tour of her route himself, just to check...

Now that was stupid. There was likely not a single one in her command that would not defend her, in case of trouble. All she had to do was shout, and her men would have gone to her aid, and he'd have had a runner, in any case. No, it was probably just that she was off doing with Casavir what Cormick had hoped he might do with her later...

Still, his shift was over. He still had work to do, but it would still be there in the morning. He pushed his chair away from his desk.

Kayla walked through the door, then closed it behind herself. Her smile of greeting reminded him uncomfortably of a wolf regarding a rabbit. She walked purposefully toward him, straddled him, and kissed him savagely.

"Whoa!" he laughed. "Let's just take this back to the Hart, shall we?"

* * *

Cormick stared at the ceiling, blinking in the morning light. Kayla had just left. It had been one wild night.

She hadn't even allowed him to get his clothing off before she took him. She'd given him only enough time to gulp the cassil herb before pushing him onto the bed and yanking his leggings down. She climbed on as soon as he was stiff enough to enter her, which hadn't been long, and she'd ridden him hard. He was surprised at her aggression, but it thrilled him. He hadn't lasted long, but neither had she.

After that, they lay on his bed for a while, cooling off, but she wasn't done with him. With her immediate need satisfied, she explored his body, stroking him everywhere and watching his face for his reaction. She teased him mercilessly, but gods, had it felt good. He was just about to release a load into empty air when she stopped, declaring that it was time for dinner. The frustration had been nearly unbearable, but he was hungry, so he dressed and allowed her to lead him to the common room.

After dinner, he expected her to ask him to walk her home, but no, she wanted to go back up to his room and pick up where they had left off. Who was he to refuse her? By the time she left, she'd pleasured him four times, not counting the one before dinner where he hadn't actually finished. He had no idea how many times he'd felt her flutter around him, but it had to be at least that many.

He'd be paying for that all day. Neither of them had any sleep, and he was sore, besides. She might have been wet enough to take him, but she was a small girl. He wondered how comfortably she would be walking, once the glow wore off.

Gah, he swore, the sun's up, and I'd better check in with my night shift before they go off duty.

Still, it was hard to force himself to do it. Now that his blood no longer pounded in his ears, he was feeling mellow indeed, and sleepy. And there was a mountain of paperwork just waiting for him. The Watch had coffee. An aftenoon running back an forth between the kettle and the privy was a small price to pay for the night he'd had.

* * *

"No," Duncan said, "for the fourth time, I haven't seen her. Helm's beard, man, this is why I gave you the keys. If she isn't in her room, she'll be at the Watch."

Casavir thanked him and plodded off toward the stair. He was loathe to disturb her, or worse, to encourage any illusions she might still harbor about the nature of their relationship, but dawn was long past, and she had not yet made her appearance in the common room. Still, she had no sleep, that terrible night they went to the Moonstone Mask, and he had waited in the common room until nearly midnight, and she had not yet returned from the Watch. Perhaps she had merely overslept. She would thank him for waking her up to make her devotions, even if they were late.

Her door was unlocked, just as he had left it the night before. Had she forgotten to lock it, in her weariness?

He pushed the door open and stared at her untouched bed, then at her armor, which had not been disturbed since she dropped it there. She had never come home.

Unbidden, his mind raced back over the years, to that bedtime so long ago when his mother held him on her bony lap and told him why he had no father. She'd dried his tears and comforted him.

_"Your papa was a Watchman,"_ she had said. _"He loved you very much, but he's gone to be with Tyr, now. You know he's very happy, and very proud of you. Come on, Cas, let's get you to bed, and I'll tell you all about the cat and the teacup."_

Something tightened in his chest.

He all but knocked over a maid on her way up the stair in his haste to get to the door, then ignored both the curses she shouted after him and Shandra's timid "Aren't we going to practice, this morning?" He ran all the way to the Watch building, and stood panting in the office she shared with Cormick.

Cormick sat calmly at his desk, drinking coffee and sorting papers. He looked haggard, older, somehow. Was he... grieving?

"Where is she?" Casavir demanded, then held his breath, waiting for the answer.

"Kayla had to go to the harbormaster's about some nonsense or other," Cormick said. "She should be back shortly, if you want to wait. There's coffee."

Casavir stared at him. The knot in his chest loosened, but it left anger in its place. He swallowed it, and composed himself a moment before speaking again.

"She never came home last night," he said at last.

"You'll have to sort that out between you," Cormick said, taking another sip from his mug and returning to his paperwork.

"Was there some problem in the Docks?" Casavir asked.

Cormick set the cup down and pushed the parchment he was studying aside.

"Casavir, sit down," he said. It was not a request.

Casavir sat at the desk facing Cormick. The surface was littered with parchment, some bearing The Lady's neat handwriting. He picked up one of them and stared at it.

"Casavir, I believe you to be a good man," Cormick said. "But right now, you are acting like the biggest ass ever to walk into my office."

"The Watch is not a safe occupation," Casavir said softly.

"That's right," Cormick agreed grimly, "and it gets a lot less safe when the Watchman is distracted by personal problems. You need to let her go."

"I have," Casavir said.

"No, you haven't," Cormick said, "or you wouldn't be in here, panting and wringing your hands like an anxious fishwife. Do you really think I would have sent no word if something terrible happened? Don't answer that. Just shut up and listen.

"You have no right to ask me where she has gone," he continued. "You have no right to ask _her_ where she has gone, nor do you have the right to ask her where she was last night. You gave up that right the moment you put your hand down Shandra's gown. Stop creasing that parchment and look at me."

Casavir put the parchment back on the table and obeyed.

"You've been a tower of virtue," Cormick said, "holding yourself so pure and chaste above mere slobs like me, but you're no better than any of us. You proved that the other night. You put your leggings on one foot at a time, just like everybody else, and when you shit? I hate to tell you, paladin, but it still stinks. So don't you even try telling me you're too noble to make love to a woman. But then, I forgot. You don't have a problem with all women, just one. So what is it, Casavir? Isn't she good enough for you? "

"You mistake my intent," Casavir said, feeling his face redden. "The other night was madness. I should never have allowed it, and I pray that one day, I may be forgiven for it. I have acted the fool, as you say, but it was not in rejecting... her. I went against my nature, and allowed myself to be led into a courtship that nearly proved disastrous. I am not made to woo a woman, least of all one I esteem so highly. As you have already observed, no task may be carried out amid distractions, and mine is not yet complete."

"So you're telling me that the only thing keeping you from going after Kayla is that you've still got a job to do?" Cormick sounded like he did not believe Casavir, but he was no longer shouting.

"Yes," Casavir said, "and, as you say, she is a woman of considerable virtue."

"Fair enough," Cormick grunted. "But let's get one thing straight. You can't bed her, for whatever reason, so you leave her alone. You don't ask her where she's going, you don't ask her where she's been. You don't fill her head with a lot of false hopes, or build her up with a lot of soft glances and tender caresses. You do your job and you get it done, and maybe then, you'll see why you should have made more time for her along the way."

"I will do as you say," Casavir replied, feeling like an errant schoolboy under Cormick's scrutiny.

"Good," Cormick said. "Now get out of here, before Kayla gets back and catches you following her around."

Casavir left. He had no right to be angry with Cormick, he knew, but he was. The man was not his father or his prior, but he treated him like a youth barely old enough to shave. Yet... had his actions not merited such a tone? Cormick told him nothing but what he had resolved to do himself, but it was difficult, putting his concern for The Lady's wellbeing aside so casually.

He sighed. He was late for his training with Shandra, and that, too, was important.

* * *

Cormick shook his head. That had not gone well at all. What was wrong with the man? He should have been furious with him for berating him like that. At least, Cormick hoped Casavir would be. Had he lost his temper, Cormick was pretty sure he could have goaded him into confessing his love for Kayla. Maybe he just needed more time.

_I have one crazy life,_ Cormick thought. _I'm bedding a woman I want for someone else. But what would I do if he did say yes? Could _I_ let her go? I'd miss the lovemaking, but I'd rather see her happy._

In the meantime, he could keep her distracted.

* * *

Time passed, and Kayla was busy. Days off had no meaning, anymore, with the deadline of her departure so near. Cormick, too, worked every day of the tenday, but he mostly supervised her Watch unit while she concentrated on the new Watch building.

Kayla intended to keep to the schedule she had arranged, that the fourth and ninth evenings of every tenday should be Casavir's to do with as he chose, but the fourth came, and he wanted nothing more than to spend a quiet evening in the common room with Khelgar and the rest, and the ninth, she had been called to work to break up a fight and had spent most of the rest of the evening filling out paperwork pertaining to the arrests. The third of the next tenday, he told her that he should not keep her, if her work required her to forgo those last two evenings before they left. She had not protested.

Cormick still spent three evenings a tenday drinking at the Flagon, and they spent about the same meeting at the Hart after leaving work. Of the two, she enjoyed the evenings at the Hart more. Cormick was not a lover, exactly. They were still the friends they had always been. But he had introduced her to a world of pleasure. She had even overcome her aversion to the act she had performed on Bishop. Cormick was patient with her, and let her move at her own pace. He treated every caress as a gift, receiving each gratefully, but never asking for more than she wanted to give, and he gave most generously, in return. Free to do what she wanted, when she wanted, she found that there were not a lot of things she did not like to do in bed.

Finally, the eighth day of the second tenday arrived. Everything was in order, as far as the Watch was concerned. All the contracts were signed and approved, all the materials had been secured. Her sole task for the ninth of the tenday was to select the bedding for the barracks and arrange for deliveries of lamp oil and coffee.

Cormick was drinking at the Flagon tonight, but he was arguing with Neeshka at the moment, with a little help from Khelgar. Casavir was nearby, as always, but she had nothing to say to Duncan that she could not say in front of him.

"I brought back a souvenir from rescuing Shandra," she told Duncan. "Actually, I've been carrying it around a lot longer, but I never knew. Do you know anything about a chunk of silver that just happens to be lodged in my chest, Uncle?"

Duncan stared at her in surprise, but he recovered.

"It must be in the wound you got at West Harbor," he said. "I'm sorry, Kayla. I should have told you. Daeghun should have told you. You were just a babe, and nobody thought you could possibly live, wounded like that, but you did, and the wound healed, and we almost forgot about it."

"What happened, Uncle Duncan?" she asked. "Cormick said you were there. Who was my mother, and how did she die?"

"You might as well have been raised by wolves, if Daeghun never told you that," Duncan shook his head. "Your mother's name was Esmerelle, and she was a lot like you... or maybe not. She was beautiful, all right, but not the same way you are. She was blond, with eyes like a summer night, and she was almost as short as Neeshka. Your father must have been a tall, skinny, brown-eyed redhead, I reckon. Anyway, she had a good heart, like you do, and she was a cleric like you, though she liked Lliira better than Lathader. She had a laugh that would stop a war, and when she sang..."

"You loved her, didn't you?" Kayla asked gently.

"Everybody did," Duncan admitted, "but yes, I did. I asked her to marry me, once, but she just laughed. She didn't mean any harm by that. It was just the way she was. She liked the life, and I was getting sick of it... and she wasn't the kind to give up something she loved.

"Anyway, we'd been going our separate ways for a while when she turned up in Neverwinter. I'd been here for months, looking for a good spot to open a tavern, and she showed up at my lodgings, asking me if I wanted to do one last job, for old time's sake. Well, I agreed, of course, but we weren't two tendays on the road before she realized she was pregnant. We finished the job, though it took a while. By then, she was really getting big, so she wanted to go someplace safe to have the baby. Well, she knew Daeghun was married, and living in West Harbor, and it wasn't even a tenday away, by sea, so I took her there. I stayed until after you were born. She had a rough time with you, I remember, and she damn near died, but when it was all over, you had ten fingers and ten toes, and we still had a couple healing potions left, so Esmerelle lived, too.

"I don't know if she would have stayed in West Harbor. She didn't much like it, there, but she got to be really good friends with Daeghun's wife, Shayla, and it was a good place to raise a child. I hadn't expected that. I thought she'd just foster you off and go back to adventuring, but she wanted to be a mother to you. That was when I asked her. She said she was happy to be a mother, but she didn't really want to be a wife. I took it hard, and went back to Neverwinter to forget her. I couldn't stay away, though, and not even a year later, I was on a boat back to West Harbor. By the time I got there, she was dead, and Shayla, too, and you were fostered off to Daeghun. I wanted to take you back to Neverwinter with me, but Daeghun said you belonged there, and that I owed him that, for the loss of Shayla.

"You know about the attack on West Harbor that happened when you were just a babe," he said. "Some of your friends, like Cormick, probably even remember it. From what Daeghun tells me, some dark shadowy thing invaded the village, and a sorcerer and a whole pack of demons and devils opposed him. They fought on the green. The sorcerer struck the shadowy leader, and he might have killed him, but his blade shattered. Everybody had scattered during the battle, but you were just a baby, and you got free of your mother's arms, and you ran out onto the green. Your mother and Shayla ran after you. Esmerelle caught you just as the sword exploded. Both Esmerelle and Shayla died, but you survived, with a great wound in your chest... and that shard inside. My brother's probably going to kill me for telling you this, but you deserve to know."

Kayla was stunned. She didn't know what to think. She was responsible for her mother's death, and that of Daeghun's wife. No wonder her foster father could hardly bear the sight of her, if she reminded him of everything he lost. Duncan had lost something, too...

"I'm sorry..." she said, blinking back her tears, "I never knew."

Everyone at the table had fallen silent during Duncan's monologue. Even Qara had stopped talking, and they were all looking at her. She felt the comforting touch of Casavir's hand on hers, but he glanced at Cormick and took his hand away.

Duncan just smiled kindly at her, and patted her on the arm.

"Don't you blame yourself," he said. "You were just a baby, and you didn't know any better... and if your mother fell, well, yes, it was a tragedy, but what mother wouldn't do the same, or what aunt? I'm just happy to have you as a niece now... just wish I had the chance to see you grow up."

She took her uncle's hand.

"Thank you for telling me," she said.

Everyone went back to their interrupted conversations, after that, but that was the end of any enjoyment Kayla might find, that evening. She went to bed.

She would have to pack, the next day, and spend one last day making sure everything was set for her departure, at the Watch. She wanted to talk to Daeghun, to find out why he had hidden the truth from her for so long, but that would have to wait until she saw him a tenday later, in West Harbor.

Provisions... she'd done nothing to secure them. Maybe she wouldn't need to do much, apart from buying some fodder for the horses. They would take the road from Neverwinter to West Harbor, and there were inns enough along the way.

Some of her enthusiasm for going to the Midsummer festival had faded, after her falling out with Casavir, but now, she had another reason for wanting to go. She would finally have answers.

* * *

Casavir looked around Sand's shop in bewilderment. This was the last chance he might have to buy The Lady a present, so he needed to make a decision today.

He debated even buying her one, though it had not taken him long to realize that he must. No matter what his intentions toward her, her birthday warranted a gift from him. But now, surrounded by choices, he was overwhelmed, and he still had precious little gold. That, at least, he might remedy. He still had one thing he might sell.

"Are you here to buy, or to sell?" the proprietor asked him.

"Would you be interested in this?" Casavir asked, placing a dagger in a much-worn leather scabbard on the counter.

"Hmmm, perhaps," the mage unsheathed the knife and looked at it. "Superb craftsmanship, subtle enchantment... not very powerful, I'm afraid, but what's this? It carries a blessing of some kind, unless I'm mistaken. You aren't trying to sell me a holy weapon, are you?"

"No," Casavir answered. "It has been blessed, but not consecrated..."

Both men turned at the bell that signaled the shop door opening, but there was no one there. Sand went to the door and closed it again, making certain the latch caught, then returned to Casavir.

"My, but it is windy today. What is the history of the blade?" Sand asked. "I like to give my customers as much information about their purchases as possible."

"The knife itself belonged to my father," Casavir said reluctantly. "I never knew him, so I do not know how or where he got it. It was given to me on my ordination. I can only assume the blessing was added at that time."

"I ask only because a weapon with a fascinating history commands a higher price," the shopkeeper said, his voice gentle. "That allows me to give you more for it. Still, 'A paladin's specially blessed dagger, the gift of a dying sire' is worth far more than a weakly enchanted knife in a hideously shabby scabbard. I can offer you a hundred gold. Will that do?"

"Yes," Casavir sighed. Memories should be worth more, but he had nothing else to sell, and he still had one thing left to buy.

Sand sighed, too, in exasperation.

"Now that I look at it again," he said with what sounded like irritation, "I see that I was mistaken about the skill of the maker. This really is an exceptional blade, and for all we know, it might have once been part of a dragon's hoard. Anything less than two hundred would be theft, and I run an honest business, sir."

Casavir's eyes widened. The elf expected him to haggle over it, but he could not. They agreed on two hundred gold.

"A pleasure doing business with you," Sand smiled. "Was there anything else you needed?"

"Yes," Casavir said. "Her birthday is Midsummer. I would like to give her a gift, though I do not know what I should buy. Will you help me choose?"

"Hmmm, yes, that is a difficult decision," the elven shopkeeper acknowledged. "How about jewelry? Nothing says 'I'm rushing things' like a gaudy bauble."

"Perhaps something else?" the paladin said, suddenly very uncomfortable. "I would not buy her some useless trinket."

"Indeed," the elf said, "for you are a practical man, and she appreciates useful things. I have just the item. She prays at dawn, no? All that fumbling about in the dark, stepping in gods know what... I'm sure she would be glad of a little extra light. And this one is special. It's called a Sphere of Invocation. If she meditates while it is lit, she will gain several extra spells every day."

The elf took out a small, intricately etched brass sphere. The top of it slid open, revealing an inner globe of glowing amber. It shone with a pale golden light. It was not bright enough to cause glare, but its light reached even the corners of Sand's small shop.

"The enchantment is permanent," Sand said, then slid the cover back over the sphere. "And if enemies are near, she need only close it to block the light."

"It's perfect," the paladin breathed, then weighed his purse. Such a thing must be precious, and he had only the two hundred Sand had given him in exchange for his father's dagger and maybe another twenty of his own.

"For you... " Sand sighed, looking him square in the face, "two hundred gold."

Casavir blinked. He did not want to think about how much money the elf was losing on this sale, but the gift was perfect. He wanted her to have this, and it seemed that Sand did, too.

The paladin passed Sand the purse, took the gift, and went back to the Sunken Flagon to pack for the journey.

* * *

Sand sighed and shook his head at the paladin's back. He would be lucky to get what he had paid for that dagger, and that lamp had cost _him_ four hundred, but it was for a good cause. The girl was that sot of an innkeeper's niece, and she needed all the help she could get in this world.

Besides, he had his business in the Docks. Before she came to Neverwinter, he was paying fifty gold a month for "protection." Now, he paid his taxes, same as before, and he got real protection from the Watch in return. He had not been shaken down for a single copper since she arrived. Unlike the besotted paladin, Sand was very good at arithmetic. Kayla had saved him four hundred gold, with another fifty in his coffers every month. He should probably have given her that Sphere of Invocation himself. Still, that would not have helped the paladin. The man clearly felt the need to make a sacrifice, and his selflessness should not be thwarted.

He bent to place the unsheathed dagger on a pillow in a display case, and jumped when he stood back up. A tiefling woman, Kayla's friend, was in his shop, and standing almost on top of him.

"How much for the dagger?" she asked.

"You can't use it," Sand said irritably. "It will burn you quicker than your sire's breath."

"It isn't for me," she said. "Tell me quick, before I change my mind."

Sand's eyes widened. Unless he was sadly off his mark, the thief was actually doing something noble.

"Two hundred," he said.

"Liar," she answered tartly, but plunked eight heavy coins on the counter. Each was easily worth twenty-five gold pieces, but then, the theif, too, knew her sums. "But I'll take it. Except that you're right. I can't touch it. He's been carrying it too long, and it's blessed, besides. We're leaving tomorrow. Can you have it sent to the Flagon after we're gone? I want it put under his pillow, _with no note,_ his first night back."

"Yes," Sand agreed, then passed her a charm. "Here's your change. This you can use."

It was just a trifle, a minor talisman of luck, but the tiefling's honest behavior should be rewarded. She acted like she had never received a gift in her life. She all but jumped up and down as she examined it.

"Oh, Sand!" she squealed. "It's beautiful!"

She kissed him on the cheek. He batted her away, but it still felt good. At least someone appreciated his generosity.

"But Sand," she said, as she was leaving his shop, "her birthday is Greengrass. He's three months late."

"Better late than never," Sand smiled. The paladin was a fool, but then, all lovers were, and his heart was in the right place.

* * *

_Note: Long chapter, this time, and next one, too. Sorry about that. Getting back to the game plot, and all._


	38. It's Not Much

_Disclaimer: Obsidian owns everyone but Kayla and some incidental characters. Kayla's conversation with Bevil and her conversation with Deghun are paraphrased OC. Taking liberties with NPCs right and left this time out, so please forgive._

* * *

Eight days on the road, and Kayla was already bored. They took their time. They had ten days to reach West Harbor, and the inns were spaced about that far apart. She rode with Neeshka, for the most part, or Khelgar. She'd been neglecting her old friends, lately.

Party dynamics had changed between more than just her and Casavir. If Shandra was not riding with Elanee, she was riding with Grobnar. Their previous journey, she had divided her time between Grobnar and Casavir. She and Casavir barely spoke, which was odd, considering that they still trained together most breaks, and when they did, it looked to be nothing more than civil. Perhaps their training regimen had strained their relationship. He could be a demanding teacher, she remembered, and Shandra did have a tendency to take criticism personally. Still, they were polite enough to each other, and Shandra's training was nearly complete, at least according to Casavir. Maybe once he was allowed to be more himself around Shandra, she would see that he was really not the slave-driver she thought him.

Casavir was having problems with most of her companions, these days. Even Khelgar no longer spent much time in his company. She could not understand that one. Ordinarily, the two men were quite friendly, but now, they barely said two words to each other all day. Of them all, only Neeshka seemed unaffected. If anything, she seemed to like him better, which was encouraging, but very odd.

Still, day by day, they ate up the miles, and West Harbor drew closer.

At Fort Locke, Commander Tann greeted her warmly and put them up for the night in the barracks, free of charge. He asked about Cormick.

Kayla had seen Cormick the night before she left Neverwinter. She'd spent the night with him, in fact, but there had been a kind of sad finality in their lovemaking, as if it would be their last time together. It was irrational, she knew. She would only be gone two tendays and a bit. Her relationship with Casavir changed suddenly, if it changed at all, but this most recent development in their relationship had at least the feel of permanency about it, or at least longevity. Still, she could not shake the feeling that she would not be returning to the Hart and Hind, or to Cormick's bed. He had sensed it, too, and bid her farewell with forced cheerfulness.

She had been irritable most of the trip, herself. Her courses arrived on schedule, their second day out from Neverwinter, and as far as Kayla was concerned, there was nothing more miserable than traveling with that inconvenience. It was a fact of life, though, and what could not be cured must be endured. She bore it as well as she could, and tried not to snap at anyone in her peevishness. To her surprise, it seemed like Bishop liked her company better when she was cross with him. He would deliberately goad her, then laugh at her reproofs. It was entertaining at a time when she really wanted the distraction, though, so she found herself going along with it, and even seeking him out, just so she'd have somebody to bitch at.

That eighth night out, they would stay at the Weeping Willow, and cover the fifteen remaining miles to West Harbor the ninth.

"And that, fiendling, is where I met Lala," Khelgar said, pointing to the spot where Kayla had helped him drive off some thugs who thought they'd find him an easy mark.

"How charming," Neeshka rolled her eyes. "Is it all like this?"

Kayla could see her eying the inn's run-down facade with skepticism.

"West Harbor's worse," Kayla laughed.

"Ah, who cares?" Khelgar snorted. "The ale is good, and I haven't had a decent pint since I left the Flagon."

Khelgar enjoyed his ale all night, though, and got merrier and more bleary-eyed as the evening wore on. True to Khulmar's word, Khelgar was indeed much the worse for drink after his twelfth tankard, and Casavir ended his night by carrying the dwarf up to the room they shared. He'd feel that in the morning, Kayla was certain. Khelgar weighed at least twice what she did, or maybe more. She'd been surprised that Casavir could even move under the weight of him, but he lifted Khelgar off the bench where he lay slumped and carried him up to their room without complaint.

The next morning, it was pouring rain. This was no summer shower, but a steady, soaking downpour that began before dawn and showed no sign of letting up any time soon.

"Should we delay a day?" Kayla asked Casavir. "West Harbor is only fifteen miles away, and Midsummer isn't until the day after tomorrow."

"How long is the rain likely to last?" he asked her.

"It'll keep up all day," she said, "but not much longer. It's always like this, in the Mere. When it rains, it rains."

"Given a choice between riding in the rain and spending the day sitting idle in a tavern, I should prefer to ride," Casavir said.

Maybe that was the problem. Had they been idle too long? With no crisis to unite them, they invented one. But that was part and parcel for the life, as Uncle Duncan would have said: long days of drudgery punctuated by periods of almost manic action. If they were slow now, they should enjoy it. When things got busy for an adventurer, it usually meant that somebody was going to need a lot of healing spells.

"Then we'll ride in the rain," Kayla agreed. "I can't have you destroying your back, carrying Khelgar up the stairs a second time."

His smile caught her by surprise. For a moment, he had forgotten to be distant toward her.

_Don't get your summer tunics out yet, girl,_ she reminded herself. _It's been known to snow in Tarsakh, and be warm in Alturiak._

Khelgar grumbled about leaving the comforts of a dry inn for a soggy journey, but he stopped complaining once they were mounted and underway. Nobody talked much, with the rain sheeting down around them.

"So let me guess," Bishop drawled, speaking suddenly. "West Harbor has a dozen and a half cottages, more pigs than people, and a tavern with the word 'keg' in it's name."

"You're only one for three, Bishop," she said tartly, "you're slipping. West Harbor has a little over two dozen cottages, if you count the farms outside town, more pigs than people, and the tavern doesn't even have a name."

"How's the ale?" he asked.

"Not bad," Kayla said, "or it wasn't year before last. The harvest wasn't that good, last year, and the ale suffered, I thought. The mead was the best I've ever drunk, though. I think Lazlo must have Brother Merring bless his hives."

"You have mead in West Harbor?" Neeshka's ears perked up.

"Oh, yes," Kayla smiled, "and I can't wait for you to try it. The cider isn't so good, but the apple trees don't like all that damp, so the fruit sometimes molds before it ripens. Georg's brother Bors was trying it for a while, but I think he's probably given up on the orchard, or at least I hope he has. The losses were ruining him."

"Is there anything to do there besides drink?" Bishop asked. "Not that I'd mind drinking, but I can always save out a few coppers to sample the local culture."

"I am certain that West Harbor has no whores, Bishop," Casavir said sternly.

Kayla just rode on. There was always Laurel Potts, but Bishop would find out about her soon enough. The militiawoman had a notorious appetite for male company, and Kayla would not put it past her to welcome a stranger into town... or just amuse herself with any convenient male, really.

_And I suppose you've been a model of maidenly restraint with Cormick,_ she chided herself, _an archon in the face of temptation. Let's not be too judgmental, now._

They did not risk the horses with anything more than a walk on the muddy roads, but fifteen miles was nothing, while mounted, and before the sun cleared its zenith above the clouds, the rooftops of West Harbor poked through the rain curtain.

"Do we go first to your foster father?" Casavir asked.

"Maybe we'd better go to the inn first," Kayla said. "Daeghun wouldn't have room to put us all up anyway, and I don't really want to lug around all this gear for the rest of the day."

Thinking about it, she was not even certain Lazlo would be able to house all of them. The mead brewer had a large house, and took whatever boarders came to West Harbor. He might have two or three rooms to let them use tonight, but he certainly would not have nine beds... nor would he have nine baths. If they were lucky, he might have three.

From the road, West Harbor looked as deserted as Ember had been, although at least here, the geese still scolded them from their pens, despite the rain.

If the village green was empty, Lazlo's house certainly was not. Every Harborman old enough to hold a mug seemed to be packed into his common room, and they were all talking at once. The din was incredible. She felt Casavir flinch behind her.

_You don't like crowds, do you?_ she thought. He could brave them, she knew. When the situation demanded that he face the multitude, he would do so with every confidence, but when it was just Cas, the man, he was shy, and did not like a lot of noise. She reached behind her and found his hand. Clammy fingers wrapped gratefully around her hand.

"Come on, Cas," she said as softly as she could. "It's quieter away from the bar."

He did not immediately release her hand, but he allowed her to lead him further into the room. There would be no table for them, crowded as it was, but they could stand together, at least.

She passed Lazlo himself on the way, and ordered drinks for everyone. She new better than to order anything but ale for Khelgar, if there was no firewhiskey to be had, but she ordered mead for everyone else. They might at least try it, even if they went on to drink something else, later. And no, they might not have three rooms, since one was let to Gaelan, but they could have two, if a couple of them did not mind sleeping on the floor. It would be tight, with five women in one room, but they had been more cramped than that, in their travels.

"Well!" she heard Bevil's slightly slurred voice behind her. "It didn't take you long to find new friends!"

He stood in back corner of Lazlo's common room... with an arm around the waist of none other than Laurel Potts.

"Nor you," she laughed. "Come on, Bevil, let me introduce you."

"You go on, Bevil," Laurel said. "I'm going home to feed the chickens, anyway. Why don't you stop by, later?"

"Sure," Bevil agreed. "Be by in a bit."

"Bevil, this is Casavir," she might as well start with the man whose hand she had been holding until a moment before. "He's a paladin of Tyr, from Neverwinter."

Bevil held out his hand and Casavir shook it stiffly.

"And this is Khelgar Ironfist of Clan Ironfist, and Neeshka -"

"She's got horns, Kayla!" Bevil sputtered. "And a tail!"

"No getting anything past this guy," Neeshka muttered darkly.

"Sorry, Neesh," Kayla apologized for her once-best friend's rudeness. "Don't judge her until you get to know her, Bevil. And this is Grobnar... or rather, that's Grobnar, over there...oh no, please tell me he isn't telling _that_ story again... anyway, this is Elanee, a druid of the Mere..."

She watched as Bevil carefully brushed off his hand and extended it slowly toward the elf, his mouth open. Elanee shook his hand solemnly, though Kayla could see how hard she was trying to conceal her amusement.

"And this is Qara... best to steer clear if you can, Bevil, she's got a temper," she added the last in a whisper. "And Bishop's over there, talking to Seline... I should have known... and this is Shandra -"

She waited until Bevil got his eyes back in his head before continuing. Shandra had that effect on people, and she was getting used to it.

"Shandra is from Highcliff," she said, but Bevil never heard her.

"Can I buy you a drink?" Bevil asked Shandra nervously.

"Sure," Shandra agreed. Bevil held out his arm for her, and Kayla watched her take it.

"Er... Bevil?" she called after him. "I don't see Brother Merring."

"He was at the house when I left," Bevil said over his shoulder.

"Can you show Shandra the way, once you're done?" Kayla asked.

"Sure!" Bevil agreed happily, after checking to make sure Shandra was still smiling.

"Do you want to go meet some more old friends?" she asked Casavir and Khelgar, who happened to be closest. "It won't be so crowded."

"Will there be any beer?" Khelgar asked.

"If Brother Merring is there, there will be," Kayla laughed. She loved her mentor, but she knew him well. If it was too rainy to be out working in the gardens or playing hurley, he would be sitting at Retta Starling's kitchen table with a mug in front of him.

"What are we waiting for?" Khelgar agreed readily.

"Let's just drop off our gear first," Kayla laughed.

Lazlo showed them up to their rooms. The women's room was a bit bigger than the men's had been, but there were still only two beds, and one of those, no bigger than a cot. Shandra and Qara would share the larger of the beds.

"Flip you for the cot?" Neeshka said, taking out a coin. "El and I first, and winner goes against Kayla."

"I don't think I'll be resting indoors tonight," Elanee said. "This rain should let up by midnight, and I'd be just as happy outside, for a change."

"Daeghun used to like to take his reveries out of doors, too," Kayla remembered. "So that leaves just you and I, Neesh, and I say you can have the cot."

"Aw, thanks!" Neeshka grinned.

They put on their spare clothing. Kayla might have been tempted to call it dry, but it was too damp for that. The packs protected it from the worst of the wet, but the air was heavy with mist. They had not been obliged to pack provisions, as they had not been camping, this trip, so they had more room for clothing. Besides the saturated tunic, shirt, and leggings that were now drying from the rafters, she had a fresh set of the same that she now wore, and her yellow gown. That, she took out of the pack, too, and hung beside the wet clothing. It was dry, but it was linen, and it creased terribly. Maybe the worst of the wrinkles would fall out, if it hung long enough.

They met the men in the common room. Bishop was grumbling about having to share a room with the others.

"Why don't you go make friends with Seline Lannon?" Kayla laughed. "She and Greta have that whole big house to themselves, with no man to protect them, now that Pitney's gone..."

"Yeah," Bishop leered, eying the busty Seline, "that'll do. Run along, children."

"You must not like Seline very much," Neeshka said, as they walked back out into the rain.

"She could use a good screw," Kayla muttered, after making sure that Casavir was too far away to hear her. "It might dislodge that stick she's got up her ass. But it won't get that far. Georg Redfell is wild for her, and as soon as he gets done milking the cows, he'll be in here looking for her, and gods help Bishop then."

"I don't believe you just said that!" Neeshka giggled. "When did you get so worldly?"

"I must be hanging around the Watch too much," Kayla chuckled. "Watchmen have filthy mouths, when there aren't any outsiders to offend."

"I guess so! Wow, if I'd known that, I would have hung around more. But you'd better not let Cas hear you talking like that."

"It's over, Neesh," Kayla said softly.

"What?! When did this happen?" Neeshka hissed. "I mean, the two of you have been awfully quiet lately, but you're still... you know."

"We never were," Kayla admitted. "But whatever it looked like, it ended the night after we went to the Mask."

"But that was a month ago!" Neeshka protested. "And he just... er... "

"He just _what_, Neeshka?" Kayla asked.

"Er... never mind," the tiefling hedged. "My mistake. I just saw you holding hands when we got here and thought it was more than that. I'm really sorry."

"Me, too," Kayla sighed, "but maybe it's all for the best. We're still friends... kind of."

"Aw, I'm sorry, Kayla," Neeshka said, and gave her a soggy one-armed hug. They had managed to get soaked again on the short walk to the Starling farm. As Neeshka pulled away, Kayla thought she caught the traces of a smile on her friend's face, but she must have been imagining things, because when she looked again, it was gone.

Retta Starling answered the door, then immediately ushered them into her suddenly crowded cottage.

"What's the matter with you, child?" she scolded her. "You should know you don't have to knock! Glen! Glen! Come here and see what the wind blew in! And so many friends, too! My word, I hope we have enough chairs... But don't worry about the introductions, dear, you can save them all 'til Brother Merring gets here, so you only have to do them once."

"Kayla!" Brother Merring beamed, and gave hear a bear hug hearty enough to lift her off her feet. "I can't tell you how happy I am to see you! And you've put on weight! It looks like life in the big city agrees with you."

"Oh, nobody wants to hear that, you big oaf!" Retta chided him, swatting his shoulder. "You look wonderful, dear. Don't you listen to that lummox, he doesn't know what he's talking about."

Brother Merring set her back on the floor and embraced her again, more restrained, this time.

"Come on in," he said, then winced and looked anxiously at Retta, but she just shooed them all into the kitchen.

"Chairs, chairs..." she fretted. "Glen, can you go out to the barn and bring some benches in?"

"I will in a moment," he laughed. "Give her a chance to introduce her friends, first, or we'll be hopping up and down like we're at a Tyrian worship rite."

Kayla chuckled at that, glancing sidelong at Casavir, but the paladin just stood toward the back, tight-lipped and anxious, with his arms folded across his chest.

_Poor Cas,_ she thought. _All these new people. You like the idea of farm villages, but now that you're in one, it's all a bit much for you. Don't worry, shy one, it just takes a little while to get used to the informality._

She dutifully made her introductions. Brother Merring blushed when she got to Casavir, but the two men shook hands cordially enough, and Brother Merring offered Casavir the first mug of ale.

The pauses during all the hand shaking allowed Kayla a chance to look at Retta and Brother Merring. Retta had not changed in the nine months since they left West Harbor, but Brother Merring had. He had always been a burly man, but he looked thinner, and a little paler, as if he were recovering from some illness. His face had healed badly, and the scar on his cheek pulled his mouth into something frozen half-way between a smile and a sneer. She shook her head at that, wishing that he had allowed it to be healed. He had been handsome, and, while the scar did not deform his features to the point of hideousness, he was handsome no longer.

"What happened to you?" she asked him softly, while Retta was putting another kettle on.

"Nothing for you to worry about," he said firmly. "I caught blueboil fever off one of the children, and didn't bounce back as quickly as I might. As you can see, I'm well past the worst of it, and no longer contagious."

Kayla's eyes widened at that. Just about every child got the disease, at one point or another, and Kayla had been no exception. The child would run a mild fever for a few days, but would be back to playing with his friends and making his mother old before her time in less than a tenday. Early exposure conferred a lifetime of immunity, so when the first child broke out in the telltale blisters, all the mothers in the village would send their children to play with him, just get it over with, and to remove the possibility that they might catch it as an adult. In an adult, the disease was often fatal, and when it was not, it usually left the victim so feeble and so debilitated that he might never walk again. That Brother Merring had recovered at all, and so completely, spoke much of his constitution.

"The benches, Glen," Retta reminded him.

"Please," Casavir said, "you must allow me to assist you."

Brother Merring smiled his acceptance and led Casavir, Elanee and Khelgar out the back door.

"I was just thinking about putting dinner on," Retta said. "Would you and your friends join us? You'll have to eat off your knees, but I can feed... eleven as easily as I can feed four, assuming Bevil can tear himself away from that harpy long enough to come home for dinner."

Kayla blinked. Shandra might not always be the most agreeable woman in the world, but she could hardly be called a harpy... but Retta had not yet met Shandra. Retta thought Bevil was still entertaining Laurel Potts. That, at least, was more understandable. Laurel was older than Cormick, but she had introduced most of the men and boys in West Harbor to the ways of women, at one point or another. But not Bevil. No, Kayla had done that herself.

"We saw Bevil at Lazlo's," Kayla said. "He was talking to one of my other friends when we left. There are actually two more of us, but Shandra and Bishop stayed at Lazlo's."

"Well, at least he wasn't bothering with that Laurel woman," Retta said briskly.

Qara snickered. Kayla glared at her, but Retta had already noticed.

"You don't care for Laurel?" Kayla asked, hoping to distract Retta from Qara's rudeness.

"Oh, she's all right, I guess," Retta conceded reluctantly. "It's just that she's too old for him."

"She's the same age as Georg," Kayla reminded her.

"And she was too old for Lorne, too," Retta continued, undeterred, "but that didn't stop me from catching them up in the loft, when they thought I was out for the day."

"Not again," Brother Merring said, coming in with one end of a long bench. "Retta, Kayla has been in this house less than half a candle and you just met her friends. Can't you leave all that until tomorrow?"

"You're right, Glen," Retta said. "You'll have to excuse me, Kayla. It's just barley and bacon tonight, but we've got green peas and cucumbers from the garden, and lots of new carrots... and I made some berry tarts this morning."

Kayla, Neeshka, and Elanee sat down to help Retta shell the peas while Qara and the men busied themselves about Retta's keg.

A huge drop of water splatted on Kayla's nose, and then another. She held out her hand under the drip.

"Leaky roof?" she asked Retta.

"It's disgraceful, isn't it?" Retta moaned. "I bought the shingles back at the beginning of summer, but will Bevil help his old mother keep her house dry?"

"I wish you'd let me do it, Retta," Brother Merring said from his place by the keg. "I could have the whole thing done in a couple days."

"If you think I'm letting you within ten paces of that ladder, you're out of your tiny little mind," Retta snapped. "Or have you forgotten that little tumble out of the loft last month? He gets these dizzy spells, Kayla... do you know anything about that?"

"I keep telling you," Brother Merring sighed, "it's a normal part of recovery. I'll get them less and less often as time goes by, and I haven't had one since."

"Well, go reshingle your own roof, then, and when you fall off and break your neck, you'll have no one but yourself to blame."

"We could help," Kayla said. "Is it just the kitchen roof that leaks, or is it the whole house?"

"Just the kitchen," Retta said, "but I don't want Brother Merring so much as standing on a chair."

"He can pass the shingles up to us," Kayla said. "Bevil will help if he sees others doing it. He just doesn't have much initiative, when it comes to getting started. You'll help, won't you, Cas? And Khelgar?"

"It would be a pleasure," Casavir said.

"Don't know why you humans have to build up rather than digging down," Khelgar grunted, "but I've no objection to pounding a few nails, if it means another tankard of this very excellent ale."

Brother Merring refilled Khelgar's tankard, and it was settled.

Eventually, Shandra and Bevil returned to the Starling home, his younger siblings were called down from the loft where they were playing, and they enjoyed a simple, hearty dinner. By the time they were finished, it had stopped raining, and Brother Merring was yawning into his tankard. With instructions to "get the old fool home, and make sure he doesn't fall into a ditch," Kayla and her friends returned to Lazlo's inn for one last glass of mead and an early bedtime.

"Brother Merring is an affable man," Casavir observed over the top of his cup.

"That he is," Kayla agreed. "So, what did you think of your first glimpse of West Harbor?"

"The people are friendly and honest," he said, "and I think it a wholesome place."

"I'm glad you like it," Kayla smiled.

"I didn't think it was even possible to be this bored," Qara said sourly.

"That's only because nobody's asked you up to his room yet," Neeshka snapped.

"Like I'd go with one of these _farmers,_ anyway!" Qara retorted.

"Maybe we can take you to see Tarmas tomorrow," Kayla said quickly, hoping to change the subject before Qara insulted their hosts any more. "He's a mage, not a sorcerer, but he's got quite an assortment of interesting charms."

Qara snorted derisively.

"Bevil seems nice," Shandra said. "Would you believe he already asked me to save him a dance at the festival?"

"Easily," Kayla smiled. If she knew Bevil, and she did, Retta Starling would have no further worries about Bevil and Laurel, at least not while Shandra was in West Harbor. It would not go anywhere, she knew. Bevil was brave enough to buy a girl a drink or ask her to dance, but when it came to more serious matters, he was almost as shy as Casavir, and Shandra did not exactly advertise herself as an easy conquest.

"You were right about the mead," Neeshka said. "It's really good."

"Just be careful with it," Kayla warned. "It packs a whallop, and there's nothing quite as bad as a mead hangover."

"Just as well tieflings don't get them!" Neeshka laughed. Kayla rubbed her temples. There might be some advantage in demonic blood, after all. Her head was pounding.

"Well, drink up, if you want," she said. "I'm going to bed."

* * *

The morning sun rose to gray skies, but by the time Kayla and Brother Merring finished the morning ritual, the clouds were already breaking. Kayla and Brother Merring happily celebrated their first sunrise together since Kayla's departure. Brother Merring might have drawn it out a good deal longer than usual, with blessings for the people and livestock of West Harbor, seasonal prayers usually reserved only for holy days, special blessings for Kayla and her friends and thanks for their safe arrival, and a plea that Retta Starling's roofing project should be completed swiftly and safely, but she could understand his reluctance to break the communion with their god. It was good to share worship with another Lathandrite, and Kayla, too, reveled in both the comforting familiarity of the ritual and the paternal affection of her mentor.

When at last they could delay no longer, they packed away the chalice and put out the candle they lit to keep themselves from tripping over each other in the predawn darkness.

They would break their fast at the Starling house, a habit Brother Merring somewhat guiltily admitted he had acquired since his illness. He had been unable to care for himself while he was sick, of course, and Retta didn't like the idea of him being ill and alone in his own tiny cottage, so she had him brought to her house while he weathered the worst of it. Her own younger children were just getting over the fever themselves, and Brother Merring had probably contracted it from them, anyway, so she said it was the least she could do to get him back on his feet. Even after he was well enough to go home, she still insisted that he take his meals there, so she could ensure that he "wasn't just filling her head with a load of duck droppings" about his recovery. He should probably just tell her he was sound and let her get back to her morning routine, but Kayla must know how stubborn Retta Starling could be.

Kayla just laughed. She knew precisely how stubborn the woman was... and how happy Brother Merring was that she should be that way.

"You aren't fooling anyone, you know," she told him as they walked toward the Starling farm.

"Of course not," Brother Merring said placidly. "I am an honest man."

"You're as bad as Cas!" Kayla laughed.

"Is there something between the two of you?" he asked.

"No..." she said sadly.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked gently. "Retta won't mind if we're late."

"He's just so stubborn!" Kayla sighed.

To her surprise, she found that she really did want to talk about it with someone, and Brother Merring had a father's love for her, and a father's understanding. She always brought her troubles to his door, growing up, and he had dried her tears and held her hands and muttered "tut, tut, now isn't it better just to let it out?" like she was his own flesh and blood.

So, she told Brother Merring about their meeting, and her initial awkwardness around Casavir, and how he had dispelled it. She told him about all their trials over the last few months, how she had initially thought him attracted to Shandra, and then that he just did not want her at all, and then how he did want her, but couldn't do anything about it because of his vows, and now, when she knew perfectly well that his vows were not holding him back, he still kept her away. She was weeping by the end of it, but just like Brother Merring had done when she was a girl, he put his arms around her and let her cry into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Kayla stammered. "I thought I was past it, but I'm not."

"There, there," he murmured, stroking her hair and drawing her closer. "I know, it hurts. It's all right to cry."

"It's just so hard!" she wailed.

"I know, daughter," he soothed her. "I wish there was something I could say that would make it all better, but there isn't. He's been alone an awfully long time, and even if it isn't the best thing in the world for him, it's familiar. It's frightening, letting somebody else into your life like that, and not everybody is as brave as you are."

"He _is_ brave!" Kayla protested. "He's a paladin!"

"I know," Brother Merring sighed. She had finally stopped weeping, and, just as he had when she was a girl, he dried her cheeks with his sleeve and kissed her forehead.

"There are different kinds of courage, Kayla," he said. "And the courage to expose yourself to another is one of the hardest to acquire. Think about it. When you let someone into your heart, you lay it bare before her, and all your petty weaknesses are right there for her to see. What if she laughs? What if she rejects you? If you never let her close, you never risk that hurt."

"But all those things show anyway!" Kayla sighed in exasperation. "Everybody has faults, and they come out whether you admit you love somebody or not."

"Ah, my daughter, but there is the heart of the matter," he said gently. "If she laughs at your failings when she is not your lover, she rejects your flaws. That is no difficult thing to live with. If you confess your love first, she rejects _you_."

"How did you get to be so wise?" she asked, nestling a little deeper into his embrace while she recovered from her outburst.

"I might not be as wise as all that," he chuckled and kissed the top of her head. "And maybe I might be better off listening to my own sermons. But come on. We've a roof to put on a kitchen, today, and I'm not going to let you face that without breakfast. We made some raspberry jam a couple days ago, and today is the tenth, so it will be griddle cakes."

By mid-morning, Retta Starling's kitchen roof had so many workmen on it that a few were obliged to find other things to do around the farm to feel useful. Casavir, Shandra, and Bevil still stayed on the roof, together with Georg and Laurel Potts, much to Retta's distaste. Kayla and Brother Merring handed up the shingles while Khelgar split the ones that would go on the edges... and split some firewood when he ran out of shingles that needed trimming. Neeshka kept the roofers supplied with nails, and Elanee and Seline Lannon weeded the garden. Retta and Grobnar busied themselves making sure everyone got enough water to quench their thirsts and replenished bowls of bread, fruit and cheese. Marco, Lazlo's brother, had come by for a look at Shandra, but he stayed to fix Retta's fence and replace a few cracked panes in her kitchen windows. Georg's brother Bors called as well, with a few dozen eggs and pair of Orlen's roasted hams to feed everyone when it was done. He busied himself helping Retta and Grobnar in the kitchen. Qara and Bishop, presumably, were busy entertaining Lazlo's kegs.

By the time the last shingle was nailed in place, nearly all of West Harbor had turned out to watch the proceedings, and most did at least some small chore around the farm.

Retta just stared.

"We might as well just hold the festival tonight!" she said at last. "Everyone's already here!"

After everyone had eaten enough ham and boiled eggs, though, most were too tired to do more than shuffle off for home.

"I can't thank you enough," Retta said. "The farm hasn't looked this good in years. Next time you come back, send word ahead of time, and I'll order some paint from Gaelan."

"My pleasure," Kayla laughed. She had a relatively light day, but Bevil was falling asleep in his beer and Brother Merring was out cold on a bench.

"I shouldn't have let him do so much," Retta said, noticing the direction of Kayla's gaze, "but he fusses if he isn't allowed to help. He still tires so easily... that can't be normal, can it Kayla?"

"Most adults who get blueboil fever die," Kayla said, "so I'd say his recovery is coming along rather nicely."

"You don't think this will set him back, do you?" Retta asked, wringing her hands.

"No," Kayla smiled. "Once the fever breaks, the disease is gone. It just takes time to regain the strength it took. Some never recover, and spend the rest of their lives bedridden, but Brother Merring is already well past that. Even if he never gets any better than he is now, he's still stronger than Tarmas, and he may even recover completely. As he said, he hasn't had a dizzy spell in a month, so his body is still mending itself."

"Should I keep him confined to the house, do you think?" Retta asked.

"Now that _would_ kill him!" Kayla laughed. "He'd die of boredom. He won't push himself too hard, and I think the exercise is good for him. You should get him up for some dancing, tomorrow."

"I like that advice," Retta chuckled, blushing. "Do you think you might dance with Bevil?"

"I might," Kayla smiled, "but I think he's already given away all his dances."

Bevil had roused himself long enough to say goodnight to Shandra. It was sweet, to see him bow and kiss her hand.

"Would you help me, Kayla?" Retta asked. "He might be on the mend, but I think he should stay here tonight. I'll put him in Bevil's room, and Bevil can bunk up with Willip and Jennie."

Brother Merring agreed to spending the night at the Starling house, but he insisted on walking up to Bevil's room on his own legs. Casavir managed to get a hand under his elbow, though, and steered the older man toward the stair without more than a little grumbling from his patient.

"You have a fine home, ma'am," he said courteously when he returned, "and I thank you for your hospitality."

"I should be thanking you!" Retta said self-consciously. "You all did so much here, today. I don't know how long you can stay in West Harbor, this trip, but you're all welcome to dinner at my home any time you visit, and I hope it's often."

"West Harbor is a charming place, and I should be pleased to return," Casavir said. He bowed his farewells and left Kayla to say her goodnights.

"I didn't know city folk had such good manners," Retta said. At that moment, Neeshka and Khelgar streaked past. From the looks of things, Neeshka had stolen Khelgar's tankard, and he was determined to get it back. She let him catch her, though, and giggled while he scolded her.

"Some of them, anyway," Retta chuckled.

"You get used to it, after a while," Kayla laughed. "But I'd better round up my crew and get them back to Lazlo's or he'll have let out our rooms to someone else."

"Goodnight, dear," Retta bid her farewell.

As on the night before, they gathered in Lazlo's common room for one last drink before going to bed. They might as well stay up, Kayla thought, as the real party would not start until the sun set. The villagers would be up early, preparing food and setting up benches, tables, and torches on the green, but Kayla had nothing to contribute but nine hungry mouths. She worried about that. She should not have come empty handed, but what could she have brought that would have kept?

"This mead is awfully good," Neeshka giggled. "I've had four cups, and it tastes different, each time."

"That's because you're drunk, fiendling," Khelgar rumbled, swatting her behind.

That gave Kayla an idea. She went to the bar and ordered four kegs of mead for the festival. Lazlo was happy enough to sell it to her. He would have sold it anyway, though he would have done so one jug at a time, and this, at least spared him the inconvenience of bottling it.

"Kayla," said a stern voice behind her, "come here."

It was Daeghun.

"You should not have come," he said. "You still bear the shards, and nobody wants you here."

"Hello to you, too," Kayla sighed.

"You place everyone in this village in danger with your very presence," he retorted. "You should not have put them at risk."

"I need answers, Daeghun," Kayla said. "Why did you never tell me about the shard in my chest? Why did you never tell me about my mother? What _else_ have you been hiding from me?"

"I should have known that drunken sot of a brother would not have kept his mouth shut," he sighed. "I did not tell you because you did not need to know, at the time. What would you have done? Your mother was dead, Kayla, and my wife, too. Telling you would not bring them back."

"Is that all the answer I'm going to get?" Kayla asked.

"Yes," Daeghun said.

"At least you can tell me who attacked the village," Kayla said. "Who killed my mother?"

"I can't," Daeghun said flatly. "I can't because I don't know. I was out hunting during the attack, and by the time I returned, everything was over, and Esmerelle and Shayla were dead. Some spoke of demons and a shadowed figure, and a warlock with glowing tatoos. The warlock and the shadow did battle on the green, and the warlock's sword shattered. It sent shards everywhere. The blast killed Shayla, but it was a shard of the sword that killed your mother... the same one you now bear. I found two others, after the battle. The first, I hid in the swamp. That was the one you and Bevil went to retrieve, the night after the bladeling attack. The second, I sent to Neverwinter with Duncan. That is all I know."

"I suppose I should thank you for telling me," she said.

"Now that you know, you should leave West Harbor at once," Daeghun said.

"I'll leave the day after tomorrow," Kayla said. "I promised my friends we would stay for Midsummer, and I won't go back on that."

"I can only hope your presence does not draw more enemies," Daeghun said. He turned his back on her and left.

Kayla watched him go. He intended only to protect West Harbor, perhaps, but she could not help regretting that he resented her so much.

She went back to her friends, but for her, the party was over. She bid them good night and went up to her room.

* * *

West Harbor had grown silent after nightfall. Even the taproom below was still. Casavir lay in the bed he shared with Khelgar and listened to the calls of the bullfrogs and the night birds... or at least what he could hear over Khelgar's snoring.

A wholesome place, Casavir thought, where people wake and sleep with the rising and setting of the sun. A place where everyone knew everyone else, and did not regret the knowledge. A place where one might work all day and earn an honest living, free from the corruption of greed or the thirst for power.

The Lady had been fortunate to grow up in such a place, surrounded by those who loved her.

Could he be happy here? There were no wrongs to right. These farmers had no cares beyond the caprice of the weather or the health of their livestock. They needed no governance beyond that which the village elders provided. Any crimes they committed upon each other were petty ones, a tool not returned or a pig enchanted to win a contest.

No, he decided. He could only be truly happy where his joy in the place matched its need for him. He might be falling in love with West Harbor, and he might long for it, but he was not needed here. He might no more claim a home than he might claim a lover.

Still, he might visit, at least, and enjoy the peace of the place while he was here.


	39. Midsummer

_Disclaimer: Obsidian owns everybody but Kayla. This chapter isn't exactly canon, but that's nothing new._

* * *

Casavir woke with a stiff neck and a sore back. He could blame Retta Starling's roof for the back, but the neck was Khelgar's fault. Like the ale he had drunk, Khelgar expanded while he slept to spread out over the whole bed, pushing Casavir up against the wall. The awkward posture had done nothing for his vertebrae. But now, with Khelgar still sleeping, Casavir might "exact his revenge." After all, what man does not need to visit the outhouse, first thing after rising? And if he nudged the dwarf in passing, perhaps that dwarf should have allowed him a way to get off the bed without doing so.

Khelgar's groans and muttered oaths were satisfying, but it was a guilty pleasure. Casavir pulled on his leggings and boots.

"Where do you think you're going?" Khelgar grunted.

"Outside," Casavir said. "Full bladder."

"Meet me behind the inn," Khelgar said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I've got to talk to you about something."

Casavir sighed and closed the door behind himself. Of course, Khelgar wanted to talk to him. He had been expecting this conversation since they left Neverwinter, and dreading it. Khelgar was protective of The Lady, a trait of which he heartily approved, except for now. Casavir was not certain that he could explain himself to Khelgar's satisfaction, but he must make the attempt.

Still, an urgent bladder might not be denied forever. Khelgar could wait a moment.

* * *

Khelgar pulled on his boots. He hadn't made it out of his clothes, last night, so there wasn't much point in dressing in something else, when he'd only put these clothes on the day before yesterday... or was it that day before that. Who cared? Point was, they were clean... mostly. Maybe he'd better throw something different on later. There was some kind of festival tonight. Lala would want to go. Too bad she'd be going alone. He'd take her himself, but he'd already promised Neesh.

He shook his head. Idiot paladin. He needed a good thrashing, but Lala would probably object to that. Well, if he couldn't box his ears, he could at least give him an earful.

Cas was still in the outhouse, so Khelgar settled for watering the bushes behind the inn.

_How's that for looking after nature, El?_

"Khelgar?" He heard Cas behind him. "Oh... I beg your pardon."

"Don't worry about that," Khelgar grunted, readjusting his clothing. "I don't suppose you know why I wanted to talk to you."

"No." Cas said. "I know. It is about our leader."

"Her name is Kayla, Cas," Khelgar said irritably. "Kay-la. Get that through your skull. And while you're at it, see if you can pound some manners in there, too."

"I endeavor to treat her with the respect she is due," Cas said.

"Says you," Khelgar grunted. "Yeah, you hold doors for her and bow and scrape with the best of them, but since that morning you slept through practice, that's all it's been is empty gestures, and that isn't what she needs. Look around you, man. These are her people. This is the life she knows. She'd be happier with a bit of your time than she would be with a thousand 'my lady's."

"Khelgar... there is nothing between us."

"She's your friend, isn't she? Friends do things for each other." Khelgar was trying to be patient, but Cas could be pretty thick.

"What would you have me do?" Cas asked. Khelgar rolled his eyes. Did the fool want him to draw up a list?

"All right, take last night," he explained. "Lala goes off to talk to Lazlo, and some pointy-ear bends her ear for a while. Not many elves in West Harbor, so it must be her foster father. Well, she comes back to the table looking about ready to cry, and heads off to her room not a quarter candle later. You could have gone up to her and done something to comfort her."

"I could not," he said. "My intentions toward her do not extend beyond friendship. I must not lead her to believe in false pretenses."

"Screw that!" Khelgar snorted. "Who filled your head with that rubbish?"

"Co- ... It is nothing but common sense," Cas made a stab at defending himself. "Tender words might encourage hopes that I cannot fulfill."

"So, you're telling me you don't love her?" Khelgar shook his head at the man's bone-headedness.

"Yes," Cas said, though he at least had the decency to sound miserable about it.

Khelgar rolled his eyes. Back at Old Owl Well, when Callum had first told them of _Katalmach,_ Nobby had called him Kettle-head. At the time, Khelgar thought Nobby an idiot. Now, Khelgar thought perhaps that the gnome had the measure of the man.

"So that gives you leave to treat her like a stranger, does it?"

"Of course not!"

"Then stop doing it. Hey, I'm not in love with Neesh, but if somebody who wasn't me gave her hells about her tail, I'd make him sorry he did, and if there was something I could do that would make her happy, I'd do it, because she deserves it, even if she is a demon-spawn."

"I shall think on what you have said," Cas waffled.

"Yeah," Khelgar grunted, "you do that. With the dance tonight, you'll have plenty of chances today to make up for being an idiot this last month, so I'd say start early. You won't want to miss any of them."

Khelgar watched him walk away. Poor sod. Khelgar was no expert, when it came to women, but that lad was completely out of his element. Where in the nine hells had he got the idea that he had to be an ass to show he wasn't interested (the hells, he wasn't!)? A man didn't have to resort to that unless the girl started following him around, and Lala wasn't desperate. Maybe it was a paladin thing. They always had maidens swooning over them, didn't they?

Still, his work was done. He said he'd slap some sense into the lad, if he started acting like an ass again, and he'd done his part. Maybe Lazlo had breakfast ready.

* * *

After leaving Khelgar, Casavir went back up to the room they shared. Grobnar was up and getting dressed. Casavir ignored him and threw himself face down on the bed.

"Good morning!" Grobnar greeted him cheerfully. "It looks like it's going to be a fine day!"

"Perhaps," Casavir replied with no conviction.

"Say, have you seen Master Bishop about? Master Lazlo was inquiring about Karnwyr, just a moment ago, and I haven't seen him all night."

_It would be too much to hope that he fell into the swamp,_ Casavir thought.

"I have not," Casavir answered. "What was the matter with Karnwyr?"

"He got into the larder, from the sound of things," Grobnar said. "Master Lazlo was a little vexed."

"Yes," Casavir said wearily. "Grobnar, might I ask for privacy, for a few moments, or perhaps just quiet? I slept poorly, and would like another candle's rest."

"Shall I sing you something soothing, sir paladin?" Grobnar asked anxiously. "I have just the tune."

"Thank you, Grobnar," Casavir sighed. "Your thoughtfulness is a credit to you, but I should rather just rest a while in silence."

At last, the gnome left.

_What am I going to do?_ Casavir asked himself. _Cormick advises that I should distance myself from her, and I know in my heart that I must, but Khelgar insists that I should be kinder to her. How might this be reconciled?_

_Cormick is her friend, and he spent every day in her company, but what of Khelgar? Khelgar, too, is her friend... and Khelgar is not human. Might not Cormick want her for himself, for all that he professes only friendship?_

The thought hit Casavir like a belly full of lead. Had Cormick deceived him deliberately, to clear the way for his own suit? No, if the marshal wanted her for himself, he might have confronted Casavir openly about it, but he would not have lied. The man was too honest to conceal his affection. No, If Cormick wanted to court her, he would have said as much.

Since Cormick had not stated his intention to press his suit, he must have spoken as one friend to another. The advice had been well-meant, and had been nothing more than Casavir himself intended. Yet Cormick _was_ much like himself. He might have spoken with good intent, yet been wrong, all the while. Khelgar, who had none of Casavir's confusion, might see more clearly, for all his coarseness.

Only a fool clings to a plan once it has already failed. A wise man learns from it and revises his strategy. No counsel should be rejected without consideration, whether from marshal or from dwarf. Cormick's advice appealed to him, but following it had proved less satisfactory than he might wish. Was it not time to consider other possibilities?

Cormick and himself be damned, it was time to listen to the dwarf. The irony of this thought was not lost on Casavir.

* * *

"Ow!" Kayla protested. "Do you have to yank so hard, Neesh?"

"It doesn't want to close in the back," Neeshka said. "Brother Merring was right. You have put on weight."

"It's the linen," Kayla said. "It always shrinks when it dries, and it was a bit damp when I hung it up."

Shandra stopped brushing her hair and studied Kayla's profile.

"No," said Shandra, "you might just be growing some boobs."

"You think so?" Kayla asked. The room had a mirror in it, but it only allowed her to see part of herself in it at a time. She took it off the wall and held it so she could see her torso.

"Maybe," Kayla allowed, "but I'm going to have to get more exercise, or I'll be getting a paunch, next. I'll be as bad as Cormick, with a nice little roll of dough right across the middle."

Kayla caught the look that flashed between Neeshka and Shandra and groaned. Qara giggled evilly from her perch on the cot. That was certainly the end of her secret.

"You could stand to gain a little weight," Shandra said loyally. "But we'll all get a chance to work some of it off tonight, with all the dancing."

"And put it right back on, with all the eating," Kayla laughed. "You just wait. Er... is that what you're wearing, Neesh?"

"I don't have a dress," the tiefling shrugged. "It's my best tunic."

"You should let us buy you one," Kayla insisted.

"Nah," Neeshka giggled, "I've tried them before. The tail has a mind of its own, and put a skirt over it, and it looks like somebody threw a blanket over a snake. Aren't you going, El?"

"I'm going," the druid said. "Marking the seasons with festivals is an ancient tradition, and a fitting tribute to the majesty of nature."

"Right," Neeshka rolled her eyes. "You commune with nature's majesty, I'll look for drunks with heavy purses."

"Er... Neesh?" Kayla said hesitantly. "This isn't Neverwinter. These farmers don't have much, and when they want to buy something, they usually pay with a pound of butter or a bag of barley."

Neeshka rolled her eyes again.

"Oh, that's just great," she said. "Well, Khelgar's always got some gold in his purse. I can always just steal from him all night."

"Doesn't he run out?" Shandra asked.

"Nah. It's fun to try to get it back into the pouch without him noticing, and I need the practice."

The men were waiting in the common room. Grobnar was overdressed, but he looked resplendent in a rose-colored doublet. Like Neeshka, Khelgar had opted to just throw on something clean and call himself dressed. Casavir wore his violet tunic, though he'd left the neck of his shirt open in the heat, and the ties popped comically out the top of it.

"Just a moment, Cas," she said. She reached out hesitantly, and gingerly tucked the the laces back under the tunic. He smiled his thanks and held out his arm to her.

"My lady," he said gravely, "may I escort you to the green?"

She blinked at his courtesy, but took his arm.

"Er... Cas... " Kayla began. He smiled and patted the fingers on his arm with his free hand.

"A gentleman may escort a lady to a dance," he said, holding the door open for her.

Bevil was waiting outside. He had cut himself shaving, and his hair was still wet and sticking up a bit, where he'd combed it carelessly, but he wore a new tunic, and he smiled anxiously at Shandra.

"You look... May I... ?" he stammered. Shandra smiled shyly and took his arm.

Kayla heard Grobnar squeak excitedly behind her.

"I'd love to, Grobnar," Elanee said, though Kayla could hear the amusement in her voice.

"Bloody hells!" Khelgar swore. He thrust his arm out at Neeshka and stood tapping his foot until she took it.

"Might as well get on with it," he grunted.

Qara snorted behind her, but there was nothing Kayla could do about the sorceress' lack of an escort. With Bishop still missing, they had run out of men.

* * *

Casavir smiled at the woman beside him. She was looking around, waving at her friends, and she looked radiantly happy. Something warm and peaceful wrapped itself around his heart. This was not so difficult, leading her to greet her friends and filling her cup or serving her from the platters on the table.

She spoke to him, sometimes, but her words were light, and caused him no discomfort. He had already forgotten most of the names she had told him since their arrival, but as she repeated them if they chanced across the owners again, it made little difference.

"Oh, look," she said. "Georg is getting out his fiddle. You remember him from yesterday, don't you, Cas? He was up on the roof with you and Bevil."

"I remember, my lady," he said. "He seemed a goodly man."

"He'll talk your ear off, if you let him," The Lady laughed. "But he's one of the good ones. Cormick is fond of him. And that's Orlen, on the other side, with the washing copper, and Web Mossfeld with the penny-whistle."

"Would you honor me with a dance?" he heard himself ask. It might be madness, he knew, but there was no harm in dancing with a woman. Cormick danced with her often enough, and she entertained no illusions about the marshal, and Khelgar was already dancing with Neeshka.

"This isn't the kind of dancing you're used to, Cas," she warned him. "It gets a little wild, here in West Harbor."

"It sounds like a bransle," Casavir observed. "If you would rather refrain, I understand, but I should like to dance, if you are willing."

The dance that followed was more vigorous than he was accustomed to, but he found himself enjoying it. They changed partners several times, so he found himself holding the hands of strangers, but the women smiled at him and tossed him on to the next with cheerful abandon. By the time the dance was over, he was almost laughing, himself, he felt so lively.

After that, some stranger by the name of Ward claimed her, so Casavir retreated to the lines of people on either side of the green. On his way, he passed Elanee. The druid looked at him hopefully, so he asked her to dance, as well.

By the time the sun set, The Lady had danced with Ward, Bevil, Brother Merring, Khelgar, Grobnar, Georg, and two men he did not know. He, in turn, had danced with Elanee, Shandra, Retta Starling, and even Neeshka, though that last was done with no small amount of awkwardness on both sides.

Shandra appeared to have forgiven him for his assault on her person. Perhaps it was the presence of the young Harborman, The Lady's friend Bevil, but Shandra had grinned at Casavir and laughed when he trod on her toes as if nothing had ever happened. He felt lighter. A shroud lifted from his conscience.

When that dance was done, he made his way back to The Lady.

"Sorry for abandoning you for so long, Cas," she apologized, taking his arm again. She was still out of breath from her dance with Bevil, but her face was rosy from the exertion. She had never looked more lovely.

"Not at all, my lady," he replied. "I have been enjoying myself. May I fetch you some refreshment? I believe Lazlo has some chilled mead."

"I'll go with you," she grinned. "You look like you could use some, yourself. Was that Retta Starling I saw you dancing with?"

"Yes, my lady," he said. "I apologized for the torn hem, but she was most gracious."

"She's used to it," she laughed. "Brother Merring has been tripping over her skirts for years, especially when he's got a few drinks in him. Speaking of which, I believe you said something about mead?"

He led her to the meadseller and filled their cups.

He spied Khelgar dancing with Neeshka over the top of Lazlo's head. The dwarf nodded at him before turning to face his next partner, a solidly built girl with heavy dark braids.

"Have you seen Seline?" he heard Georg ask.

"Not since yesterday," The Lady answered.

"I'm here, Georg," said a slender, extremely pretty girl with eyes that Cormick would have admired. "I'm sorry I missed our walk, this morning... I... ah... overslept."

"Greta said you weren't out of bed yet," Georg said, kissing the blond girl on the cheek. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," she blushed. "I waited for you at Lazlo's last night, but you never showed up."

"One of the cows got into the snakeweed again," Georg explained. "Took me half the night to catch her. But you're here now, so what do you say to... Who's your friend?"

Casavir did not even have to look to know it would be Bishop. It was always Bishop. The ranger had approached the green with the woman who could only be Seline, and he hovered near like a malodorous cloud.

"Er..." Seline stammered, "it isn't what you're thinking."

Georg's chest puffed up and he took one aggressive step toward the ranger.

"Has he been bothering you, Seline?" Georg demanded.

"No, Georg, really, he was just..." Seline faltered. Casavir had a sinking feeling about this. Had Bishop seduced the girl into being unfaithful to her lover?

"If you hurt her," Georg threatened, " swear I'll -"

"Only that first time," Bishop leered. "After that, it didn't hurt at all, did it, poppet? It just slid right in and she loved every minute of it, that third time, especially. I'm surprised you didn't hear her moaning all the way over here."

"You didn't!" Georg gasped, at the same time as Seline groaned "No!"

"But I did, old man," Bishop laughed, "all night long. Looks like she won't be making you a present of that maidenhead, after all. Funny thing, that. Who'd have thought a juicy little tart with tits like that would be saving herself?"

Casavir's hand reached for a weapon he did not have. He had come to the festival unarmed, though he regretted it now.

"I'll kill you!" Georg spat.

"Oh, no!" Seline wailed, and ran away. Georg swore and ran after her.

"No, Seline!" Casavir heard him call after the fleeing girl. "Come back, please! I don't blame _you_!"

The girl stopped running. Georg caught her. Casavir held his breath. Would he strike her? She had betrayed him. But no, the Harborman kissed her hand and wiped the tears from her eyes. Casavir was too far away to hear what was said, but he watched Georg embrace the girl and lead her away, one arm around her shoulders. He saw her turn to Georg and kiss him on the cheek. The Harborman smiled back at her, and they kept on walking, away from the green, toward a small, well-tended cottage. He opened the door and led her inside, then closed the door firmly behind them.

Casavir shook his head, baffled by what he had just witnessed. The girl had some kind of understanding with Georg, yet she had broken faith with him and lain with Bishop. Then, with the truth revealed and confirmed by both parties, Georg had not only forgiven her, but, to all outward appearances, renewed their promises? From the looks of things, the Harborman might even be planning on... The idea of lying in another man's seed made Casavir shudder. No, surely the Harborman could intend nothing of the kind.

"You!" The Lady turned to Bishop. "Can't I trust you for one night not to jump the first woman who doesn't call the militia on you?"

"No," Bishop replied, laughing.

"You won't be laughing if she quickens," The Lady said. "Don't you even think about things like that?"

"Karnwyr doesn't, so why should I?" Bishop shrugged. "Besides, that bald idiot will be humping her inside a candle, so there's as good a chance it would be his, anyway. I just loosened her up a bit for him."

"Well, don't be doing that favor for any more of the girls around here today, all right?" she said.

"Why?" Bishop winked at her. "You want me to save my strength for you? Don't worry, Princess. I just took the edge off with that little slut. I've still got plenty of appetite left for you."

"Watch your mouth, Bishop!" Casavir found his voice.

"Come on, you two," The Lady said. "It's Midsummer. You know, poetry, music, dancing -"

"Screwing until the sun comes up," Bishop finished for her.

The Lady shrugged.

"A little more colorfully put that one ordinarily hears," she agreed, "but in any case, none of the traditions call for fighting. They do call for dancing, though, and I've only had one dance from you today, Cas."

"As you say, my lady," Casavir forced himself to relax, "and I shall remedy that at once, if you will allow it."

Casavir led The Lady back to the green, and bowed to her. The next tune assaulted by fiddle, penny-whistle, and washing copper was another bransle, which was just as well. A wild dance was just what he needed to forget his anger over Bishop's impropriety... though the sight of his partner's figure bouncing in front of him did nothing to help him forget that Midsummer was a night for lovemaking, as well as for dancing.

* * *

Neeshka panted in the early evening heat and let Khelgar swing her around for another round of the dance. The next partner in the set was a man she didn't know. He took one look at her horns and bolted from the green, afraid to touch her.

She sighed.

She wasn't getting as much of that as usual, tonight, but there was always one in any crowd that just couldn't act civil toward a tiefling.

"C'mon, Neesh," said a soft, rumbling voice at her elbow. "Let me buy you a mead."

"Aw, thanks, Khelgar," Neeshka brightened. "I could sure use one... but I don't think we have to pay. Kayla took care of that last night."

"Figure of speech," he grunted. "Don't let that idiot rattle you none. Reckon his momma just didn't raise him right."

Neeshka snorted. Nine months before, Khelgar wouldn't have said that. But then, people change.

"Looks like Kayla's having fun," she said. "They've been dancing the last four sets."

"It isn't going anywhere, Neesh," Khelgar said. "Talked to him this morning. They're just friends."

"If you believe that, I've got this prime parcel of Chessentan land you might be interested in," Neeshka giggled. "You should see what he bought her for her birthday."

"Her birthday was Greengrass."

"He's confused," Neeshka shrugged. "Anyway, what do you say we walk by the food tables again? I'm feeling a little peckish."

"Wouldn't say no to that!" Khelgar agreed heartily. "Say what you will about these swamp folk, they know how to cook."

Neeshka picked, but Khelgar loaded up a plate with more of everything. Then it was sitting around waiting for him to get done eating, and then, waiting for him to get himself another ale. By the time he finished that, he needed to drain off the last ale, so Neeshka was still sitting on the sidelines while everyone else was dancing. Not that she could complain. She'd danced with Khelgar, of course, but also with Grobnar, Casavir, Brother Merring (twice!), and even Bevil, though he'd cringed the whole time. Brother Merring had been the most fun, after Khelgar. He seemed to be a lot like Kayla. He didn't treat her like a tiefling. He treated her like a girl that didn't get up to dance as much as some of the other girls, and went out of his way to make sure she got her turn. And then, when the dance ended, he'd actually taken her by the hand and helped her to mead and cakes like she was a special guest. Neeshka liked Tymora best, but Lathander was all right, if his priests could ignore even blood like hers.

"Could I have the next dance?" asked a pleasant voice beside her. The owner of the voice was a young man, younger than her, maybe Kayla's age. He had spiky blond hair and a bit of a weak chin, but he was asking her to dance like she was a real person, so who was she to complain?

"Sure," she agreed.

"My name's Wyl," he said while they danced. "What's yours?"

"Neeshka," she smiled. Maybe she'd been too hard on the people of West Harbor. This one, at least, seemed determined to be polite.

_Careful, now,_ she warned herself. _You know how this always ends... but this is West Harbor. How much could they really have heard about tieflings?_

"Never met anybody like you," Wyl said, though he did not sound like he was finding fault with her. "Sorry... you must hear that all the time."

"Yeah," she admitted with a smile, "but it's kind of hard to miss, with the horns and the tail and all."

"You're a really good dancer," he said. "And excuse me for being so forward, but you sure do have pretty eyes."

"Aw, thanks," Neeshka blushed. She tried to find something to compliment about, but he was pretty ordinary, as far as looks went.

"I like your hair," she said. He went scarlet at that.

"When this dance is over, would you mind taking a walk with me? You seem like a really interesting person, and I'd like to get to know you better..."

"I don't mean anything by that," he said quickly. "Just go for a walk, and talk a bit, and maybe I can get you a drink?"

"If you want," she said, though she felt a little nervous about it.

Still, when the dance ended, he offered her arm and led her to Lazlo, and got two cups of his special mead. It was a lot more expensive than the stuff Kayla bought, four silvers a cup... and a lot stronger.

"Where are you from? He asked as they walked.

"Neverwinter," she replied, "though I don't have much family to speak of. You?"

"I've got two brothers," he said, "Ward and Web. Web's up there playing the penny-whistle. I don't see Ward, but he's probably off with his sweetheart somewhere."

"Do you have one of those?" she asked him.

"Nah," he said bashfully. "I've always been kind of shy... guess I got a cup of courage from Lazlo before. I've been watching you all night. You really are very pretty... and you dance really well."

"Aw, thanks," she blushed.

They were getting pretty far from the lights of the village, too far to even see them, anymore, but he held her hand, and stroked the back of it with his thumb. He seemed really sweet, and very earnest, like he wasn't used to complimenting girls.

"Er... Neeshka... if I ask you something, will you promise not to laugh?" he asked anxiously.

"Sure," she answered.

"Would it be all right if I kissed you?" he asked hesitantly. "I mean, I won't if you don't want to, but the moon is so pretty, tonight, and you're here, and... well, you really are beautiful."

Neeshka sighed. In her entire life, no one had ever said she was beautiful. The way he said it, she felt almost normal, like she wasn't a demon at all.

"If you want," she said shyly.

He kissed her hesitantly, at first, but he got bolder quickly. His hands were all over her, but she didn't mind. She hadn't been with a man in years, and it felt good.

What followed was a lot less rewarding. He started out asking her permission for everything, but by the time he had her smalls down, he was unstoppable. He took her roughly, rode her hard, and was done before she even started to respond.

"Hmf," he grunted, pulling up his leggings. "That was certainly a waste of four silvers. They really don't know what they're talking about, if they think tieflings are all that."

He hadn't done more than drop his legging to mount her, so it took him a lot less time to dress than it took her. He was walking away before she even found her smalls.

"Hey!" she shouted after him. "Don't leave me here! I don't even know if I can find my way back to the village."

"You think I want you walking back with me?" he sneered. "Think again. Go home, tiefling. Your kind is nothing but trouble."

Neeshka couldn't hold back the tears. She would be scorned where ever she went, Lathandrites or not. And Wyl was gone and she didn't know how to get back, and she was full of the seed of a man who wished she'd never been born. He'd used her and left her there like she wasn't even part human. It never changed.

She finally found all her clothes, so she got dressed. He'd flung her tunic in a puddle, so she was cold, wet, miserable, and degraded. What in the nine hells had she been thinking, to imagine the humans of West Harbor any different than the rest of Faerûn?

She hugged her knees and wept.

"Neesh!" a gruff voice cut through her misery. "Thank the gods! I've been looking for you forever! How in the nine hells did you get all the way out here?"

"Khelgar?" she blinked.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Er... yeah..." she said.

"The hells you are," he grunted, sitting down beside her. "What happened?"

"You know how that guy ran away from me, when you and I were dancing?" she answered. "That's one of the two ways human men usually interact with tieflings. The other way, they don't run until after they lighten their balls."

"Aw, Neesh, you didn't!" He sounded shocked, but he also sounded concerned. "Why'd you go with him, if you knew he'd use you like that?"

"I don't know!" she wailed, weeping again, despite herself. "I thought it would be different, this time."

"There, there, Neesh," he sighed, putting his arm around her. "You're a good girl, for all that you're a thieving little hellion. Don't you start thinking that all people are bad, just because a few of them are idiots. They just don't know you, that's all. Why, even Cas likes you, and you give him a rash. C'mon, now, don't be sad. You've got plenty of friends, and none of them care if you've got horns."

"But Wyl..." she stammered.

"Bugger Wyl!" Khelgar said hotly. "You point him out to me, when we get back, and I'll thrash him until even his mother won't recognize him."

"I don't even know how to get back," she whispered.

"Well, I do," he said. "You just take my arm, and we'll stroll back into the village, like you're the queen of the Mere. And then we'll get good and drunk and show everybody that tieflings and dwarves, at least, know how to have fun at a festival."

She shivered.

"Hey, now!" he belowed. "I won't have you catching your death in wet clothes. It looks like your tunic got the worst of it, so you take mine, and I'll just carry your wet things."

"Er..." she stammered, "what will you wear?"

"Ironfist pride," he said, grinning, "and a beautiful woman on my arm. Can't say I'm used to being that well dressed, but I'll do my best not to make you ashamed of me."

They traded tunics and started back for West Harbor.

"Do you think you have one last dance for me?" she asked softly.

"What are we waiting for?" he smiled, holding out his arm. "But maybe I'd better stop off at the inn for another tunic first. Between your good looks and my good build, well, it might be too much for these nancies to handle."

Neeshka kissed his cheek. He really was sweet, when he forgot to act tough.

* * *

Kayla fanned herself and tried to catch her breath.

"I need a break, Cas," she said.

"As you wish, my lady," he answered politely, though also somewhat breathlessly, and led her off the green. "Would you like to sit down?"

"Please!" she laughed. He steered her toward a row of benches and rather unnecessarily helped her to a seat at the end of one.

"Shall I get you a drink?" he asked.

"Yes, please, water, if you wouldn't mind," she smiled.

She watched him walk off in search of a pitcher and some cups. He had been the soul of attentive courtesy all evening, she reflected. It was subtle change, but it was noticeable. He was always polite, but today, he seemed to be going out of his way to make sure the evening was as pleasant for her as it possibly could be. It was not like that night they sailed the parchment boats. There were no soft looks, filled with longing, or one-armed embraces listening to love songs, but he did dance with her as often as she was willing to get up to dance, and he certainly made sure she never lacked for food or drink. And the evening had been pleasant, apart from that incident with Georg and Bishop. Still, it looked like the confrontation provoked Georg to finally declare his feelings for Seline, so those two, at least, were happy.

But was Casavir enjoying himself? He showed no sign of discomfort at the closeness of some of the dances, nor did he flinch when she took his arm, but then, he was too much the gentleman to allow her to see that. He might like West Harbor well enough, but these were not his people. He might just be very good at concealing his boredom.

When he returned, he sat beside her.

"If I ask you something, will you promise to answer me truthfully?" she asked him.

"Always," he answered hesitantly.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" she asked. "You don't know any of these people, after all, and I know you don't like a lot of noise. If you wanted, we could always go for a walk or go back to the inn... you could teach me to play chess, maybe..."

"I have been enjoying myself," he smiled. "I do not know these people, my lady, but you and I are acquainted with each other, and that is enough. Though... my lady, you said we might take a walk. I do not ask because I want to escape the noise or the crowd, but I have not yet seen much of West Harbor. You have shown me the Starling home and the green, but I have not yet seen the place you grew up, or the sites of any of the memories you have shared with me, over the last few months. I should like that very much."

"You should have said!" Kayla shook her head. "We could have gone this afternoon. Still, there will be torches along the path, tonight, and the moon is very bright. If you want to go now, we should be able to see well enough."

The cottage she had shared with Daeghun was dark, as she knew it would be. She knocked on the door, but no one answered. It felt funny, walking into the home she had lived in so long, like she was a stranger, but Daeghun was not here, and she did have a right to be here... perhaps. The lantern was in its usual spot, as was the tinderbox. After only a few tries, she got the lantern lit and led Casavir into the house.

"We didn't have a separate kitchen," she explained to Casavir. "With just Daeghun and I, we could just cook over the hearth. My room was upstairs."

It was unusual for houses this small to even have stairs, or even two bedrooms, but this one did. Her room looked almost exactly the same as it had, the day she left it, but there were changes. The bed was made, which she had certainly not done, but the coverlet was folded back, like Daeghun expected some guest... and one of her gowns was draped across the foot of it. She'd split her hurley stick, last game she played in West Harbor, but there it stood against the washstand, mended and ready to use. Someone had dragged her wooden soldiers out from under the bed, where they must have lain for the last ten years, and brushed off the dust and arranged them in two lines, facing each other for a battle that would never happen.

A lump rose in her throat. Whatever she expected, it was not this.

Casavir was staring at the wooden soldiers on the floor.

"I was not very ladylike, when I was a girl," she said, though her voice sounded a little choked to her. "Bevil and I used to play toy soldiers all the time, when it was too wet to get into trouble outside. He always won."

He just smiled at her. What could he say?

The left the house and made their way back to the bridge.

"Well, you've seen my house," she sighed, "and you've seen the oak tree I fell out of when I was ten, and you've seen the place we used to have snowball fights, when we got enough snow to make them."

"It never snows in Neverwinter," he said.

"Then that tears it," she laughed. "This winter, we're going to go find some place to camp until it snows, and you're going to get you butt whooped in your first snowball fight."

He smiled shyly at her.

"There is one thing, yet, that you have not shown me," he said softly.

"You've seen all there is to see," she said. "What else is there?"

"You have not yet shown me the moon."

Kayla's eyes widened. He could not be serious. But no, Casavir never made spurious requests of her.

"All right," she said reluctantly. "But we've got to walk all the way back to the Starling house. And be careful, because it's likely to be very muddy, after the rain."

"May we stop by the inn for a cloak, then?" he asked. She blinked at him, but followed him back to Lazlo's, then led him down the path behind the Starling house, praying that no one else was using the spot. It was not immediately visible from the house, with a shed and a low stone wall to block the view, so she would have to be standing there to know for sure. But no, they had the place to themselves.

He calmly spread the cloak on the grass and sat down on one side, then stretched out to lie on his back, looking up at the moon shining down on them through a gap in the trees.

"It is as beautiful as you described," he said. "Will you not enjoy it with me?"

She hesitated a moment, then sat on the edge of the cloak. When he made no move, apart from folding his hands behind his head, she lay beside him and did the same. As she had that Harvest Fair nine months before, she felt calm and a little drowsy. She turned to look at Casavir, but he still gazed at the moon, smiling softly.

She startled at the sound of someone rustling nearby.

"It's just a little further, Shandra." It was Bevil's voice. "Here, behind the shed. There's a better view further down, but it's probably too muddy to risk it."

"Very pretty," Shandra said. "If I had a spot like this in my back garden, I'd be out here all summer."

Casavir started to sit up, but Kayla stopped him. She leaned in close so she could whisper in his ear.

"He doesn't know we're here," she breathed. "If we get up, he'll see us, and he'll think..."

Casavir nodded. She retreated from him a little. Bevil could only have brought Shandra here for one purpose. She prayed that he would be quick about it... and that he would be silent.

"Shandra... would it be all right... that is... I'd like to... "

"Yes."

* * *

Casavir cringed at the first sounds of their lovemaking. He did not need to see them to know that they kissed, nor that they had begun to explore each other's bodies.

"You have the softest hair..."

Soft moaning.

"Mmm, nice..."

"Easy... hang on... you're knotting it... there..."

She gasped, then let out a throaty sigh.

"It's all right..." Bevil whispered, "you can touch it."

Bevil groaned. "Er... maybe you should hold off on that a moment... oh gods, yes... yessss... your tongue... oh... easy... yeah... like that... ohh... please, you'd better stop, or I won't last."

After some rustling, they were silent a moment. Casavir prayed that they had finished, but he had been too optimistic. Shandra was moaning softly, and gasping for breath. From the sound of things, Bevil was returning the favor Shandra had bestowed on him.

Casavir shifted uncomfortably, very aware of his own body's reaction to the sounds on the other side of the wall. He wanted to turn onto his side, so The Lady would not see the bulge growing in his leggings, but he could not. The others might hear the movement, and she might believe that he was doing something obscene with his back turned. He folded his hands across himself, but the weight of his hands only made it worse.

He risked a glance at her. She stared up at the moon, her expression horrified. His heart went out to her. There she lay, surrounded by either indulged or repressed lust, and she could not escape.

"Oh! Bevil, stop, or I won't be able to wait, either!"

"Go ahead... maybe I can get you there twice..."

Shandra let out a long, shuddering moan that was almost a scream, then she was still, gasping.

"Mmmm, I think you liked that."

"Gods, yes... but don't touch so much quite yet. I'm a little sensitive. Let me do you a while, until I'm ready again."

Whatever Shandra did next, Bevil sounded like he was enjoying it.

Casavir stole another glance at the woman beside him. She had turned her head away from him. He could only imagine the horror on her face. The hand nearest to him clenched the cloak.

Bevil groaned again, louder.

Casavir was sweating. His arousal had only become worse. He did not know whether he should pray that he would not soil his smalls or pray that he would. At least the release would allow him to return to a flaccid state, and cause no further embarrassment.

"I'm ready," Shandra breathed.

The next half candle was undiluted torture for Casavir. It was as if they were competing to see who could outdo each other in passionate cries. He prayed that it would end, but it did not. Under other circumstances, Casavir might have admired the young Harborman's stamina, but now, with his own need so pressing, and so unquenchable, he despised the man's endurance.

"You all right?" Shandra gasped.

"Sorry, it's the mead... making me a bit numb... put your legs up... oh yeah... oh gods, yeah... OHHHhh... oh... "

At last, it was over.

The two on the other side of the wall muttered pleasant things to each other for a while, then finally, fell silent for a while. Casavir could just imagine them relaxing in each other's arms, stroking each other in the blissful stillness that follows passion. For one brief moment, he was jealous.

"How long will you be in West Harbor?" Bevil asked at last.

"We're leaving tomorrow," Shandra replied.

"Oh... I don't suppose you'll be back..."

"Maybe someday. Listen, Bevil, this was wonderful, but it was only going to be tonight. We both have to get back to our lives, in the morning."

"I know. But I'll never forget tonight, and you never know. We might meet again, someday."

"I'd like that. But we can't stay here all night."

"Yeah," Bevil sighed. "Er... I think these smalls are yours."

"Your tunic is on backward."

"Thanks... do you have to go to bed right away?"

"No. I think you could talk me into one more cup of mead."

"Come on, then. Watch your step, there. It's slick."

After Bevil and Shandra left, it was still several moments before Casavir had regained enough composure to face the woman lying next to him.

She had not stirred, except to cover her face with her hands. At first, he wondered what fit had taken her, because she shook visibly, but he saw that she was wracked with sobs. He knelt beside her, but he could think of nothing to ease her distress. In any other situation, he might embrace her, and sooth her with soft words, but now...

"My lady, please do not weep," he pleaded. "I am sorry you had to hear that. I would have deafened you, if I could, but I have not the spell."

She sat up and took her hands from her face. She was still shaking with uncontrolled emotion, and still unable to speak. Her cheeks were wet with tears... but she was... laughing?

"My lady?" he asked. "Are you unwell?"

"Oh, Cas!" she gasped. "I'm fine! It's just that it's all so funny, and I can't help but laugh."

"Is it?" he asked, feeling more than a little confused.

"Yes!" she laughed. "It's Midsummer, Cas, a night for poetry and song, and for dancing and making love until dawn. There are probably couples hidden behind every bush, shed, and stone wall in West Harbor."

Casavir cleared his throat.

"Perhaps," he said, "though I do not understand why this should be a cause for mirth."

"Because, you silly goose, we are probably the only two human adults in West Harbor tonight who are not making their own special tributes to Sune, but here we are, sitting right on top of the most secluded and romantic plot of land in the entire village, and we're embarrassed by two people making love not ten feet away. And I'll be biting my tongue for months, trying to keep myself from joking with Shandra about Bevil's birth mark."

"My lady?" Casavir frowned.

"Oh, Cas!" she laughed. "You really did lead a sheltered childhood, didn't you? Bevil and I grew up together. We've been friends since before we could walk, and nobody cares what children wear when they go swimming. And when you were small, didn't you ever wonder what made little boys different from little girls?"

He felt himself redden, but he chuckled in spite of himself.

"I fear that I did not find out the answer to that riddle until I was much older," he admitted. "I had only one brother, and he was ten years older than I... and then at the temple... well, as you know, all the other children were older, too. By the time I caught up to the others in age, I could no longer ask such questions without censure. I had seen animals, of course, so I had at least some idea, but I... was not the most knowledgeable of my year."

After that, he did allow some amusement at The Lady's jest. It was ironic, that they should be here, surrounded by happy lovers, and be so chaste toward each other, but she did not fault him for that, nor did he expect her to.

He cleared his throat again.

"My lady," he said. "I admit to luring you to this spot under false pretenses. I intended no affront to your honor, as you must know, but I have something to give you that I did not wish to bestow in front of others."

He took the Sphere from his belt pouch and handed it to her. Perhaps it was still warm from his body, but it felt warmer to the touch than he expected.

"Today is your birthday," he said. "I would be most remiss to have no gift for you."

She took it hesitantly.

"Cas..." she said slowly. He held his breath, hoping that she would not reject a gift given in such unusual circumstances.

"My birthday was Greengrass," she said.

"Was it?" he choked. "But I thought... forgive me, my lady. I was mistaken."

"Oh, Cas!" she laughed. "It's still a sweet thought, even if it is a couple months late. What is it?"

"Sand called it a Sphere of Invocation," he explained, relieved. He opened the Sphere so that its light illuminated them. "You pray at dawn... and you cannot see in the dark, as you know... and I thought some supplemental light might prevent you from spraining an ankle or taking a fall in the darkness. Sand tells me that if you meditate while the Sphere is lit, you might gain some additional spells, as well."

"What a thoughtful gift!" she said delightedly. "It's wonderful! Thank you!"

Her smile would have lighted her face, even without the Sphere. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek enthusiastically. He returned the caress, but lingered, with his cheek still touching hers.

"It's bad luck," she whispered, "going to bed on Midsummer night without a holiday kiss."

"I should not wish to be unlucky," he breathed.

He intended the kiss to be chaste, no more than a brush of the lips, but once he felt her lips against his... he wanted the caress to last the night through. He kissed her tenderly, and felt her surrender to him. He savored the feel of her body in his arms, though is own body responded to the embrace. At last, when he began to fear that his yearning might overwhelm him, he drew apart from her a little.

"My lady," he sighed, "forgive me. I would not have you believe there could be more between us."

"I know," she said, "and I understand. But we had tonight."

"We had tonight," he echoed.

* * *

_Note: Thanks to my beta reader, who, apart from finding my typos, also pointed out several places where I wasn't saying what I thought I was saying._


	40. Coming Clean

_Disclaimer and note: Obsidian owns everybody but Kayla. Lots of talking, this chapter, none of it OC. If you aren't interested in watching folks squirm a bit, you could probably skip it and not miss too much._

* * *

Their departure was delayed the next morning by a hurley game. The dance might have exhausted Brother Merring too much to play himself, but he bullied Kayla, Khelgar, Casavir, and Shandra into playing, and stood on the sidelines shouting encouragement and healing cracked shins. Kayla was allowed to captain one team, but Georg got the other, and he snatched up Casavir on his first choice, and Shandra on his second, so Kayla and Khelgar had the pleasure of opposing their companions for the game.

Kayla was annoyed by this, at first, but snarling playfully at Casavir and Shandra over the slyther was fun, and Brother Merring had Casavir healed up and back in the game in no time. She would apologize for fracturing his kneecap later, but Casavir was too familiar with the sport to hold a grudge about an accidental injury.

Still, the afternoon was wearing on, and Kayla had promised Daeghun that they would leave today, so they said their goodbyes and prepared to depart. Kayla hated herself for taking Shandra away from Bevil. Despite his acceptance that Shandra must leave, he was having a hard time saying farewell.

"Do you want to come with us?" she asked him.

"I can't," he said sadly. "I want to, but there's no proof that there won't be another attack, and I've got a duty to protect West Harbor."

"Good man," Casavir approved, and shook Bevil's hand.

"I understand," Kayla said, "and I can't fault you for that. Do you want to stay, Shandra? West Harbor can always use another farrier. I'd be sorry to lose you, but I would understand if you wanted to stay."

"I can't, either," Shandra said, sounding like she actually regretted it. "Gods know that I'd rather go back to farming, but I still owe you. Can I just have a few moments alone, to say goodbye?"

"Of course," Kayla smiled. "I haven't said goodbye to Brother Merring, yet, so I'll go do that. Can we meet on the bridge just outside the village?"

The sun had set, and still Shandra had not returned. Kayla paced for a while, but now stood sullenly, staring into the brook. She thought about going to look for Shandra, but she had a good idea what the pair of them were doing, and she was reluctant to deny them that. It was only fifteen miles to the Weeping Willow, the moon would be bright, again, and the roads were dry. They could set out as late as they wished.

Neeshka had come to stand beside her, and tossed pebbles into the stream.

"Do you know a man named Wyl?" Neeshka asked her suddenly.

"Yes," Kayla said, "but I can't say I'm glad if you do. How do you know him?"

"He tricked me into lying with him," Neeshka whispered. "He seemed sweet, and a little shy, and he acted like it meant something..."

"Oh, no!" she moaned. "I'm sorry, Neesh. I should have warned you, but I just didn't think. I'm so sorry. Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Neeshka said. "I'm guessing he's done this before?"

"He did the same thing to Aimee, a few years ago," Kayla shook her head, and put her arm around her friend's shoulders.

"That makes me feel better, in a way," she said. "I mean, I know he still used me, and all, but if he did the same thing to a human, well, at least he wasn't just treating me like dirt because I'm a tiefling."

"Oh, no, I don't think he was," Kayla smiled grimly. "He's a bastard, no matter who he's seducing. With Aimee, he went all over West Harbor, spreading the vilest rumors. I sure as hells hope that he doesn't try that. Don't think he would, though. There are too many fathers and brothers in West Harbor that wish him dead for him to go around talking about his crimes."

"That's a relief," Neeshka sighed. "I'd just as soon nobody knew about it."

"Who does know about it?" Kayla asked, concerned. All she needed was Qara latching onto that bit of gossip. Neeshka had been through enough, without adding that to the sorceress' arsenal.

"Just you and Khelgar," Neeshka answered. "Wyl brought me out into the swamp and left me there, so I was lost. Khelgar didn't see me back at the festival, so he went out looking for me, and found me while I was still crying about it."

"I should have been there," Kayla reproached herself. "I'm sorry. You've always been there for me, no matter what."

"Khelgar cheered me up," Neeshka said, smiling. Kayla squeezed her hand. "We had a great time, after that, as a matter of fact. But where were you?"

"Cas and I went for a walk," she explained, trying not to blush.

"Oh, really?" Neeshka grinned.

"No..." Kayla sighed. "We're still just friends. He just wanted to give me my birthday present alone."

"Mmm-hmm," Neeshka hummed mischievously.

"No, really!" Kayla sputtered. "I have it here. Want to see?"

"Umm, no.... well, the truth is... well, it can't be very big, if you've got it in your belt pouch, and if it's something small, it's likely to be private, and, well, I don't think you should show me anything private."

"In other words, you already saw it," Kayla smiled wryly.

"Umm... yeah," Neeshka admitted. "But I was sneaking a peek at his things, though, so I shouldn't have seen it."

"You got a look at 'his things'?" Kayla raised her eyebrows. "What does he keep, in that belt-pouch of his? He never lets anybody touch his gear, so I'm curious."

"I was, too, which is why I looked," Neeshka grinned. "It's all boring stuff, or mostly, anyway. The pack is nothing but clothing, this trip... you should see the state of his smalls, just about worn through. His belt pouch is everyday stuff: money purse – no I didn't steal anything, since it's always empty, anyway – and a penknife, and an antidote. That was about it. He must wear his holy symbol, because I didn't find one in his gear. He's got a razor and soap in his pack, and armor polish, and an empty vial that smells like your perfume."

"What would he be doing with my perfume?" Kayla asked, baffled.

"Maybe he wants to get you more," Neeshka shrugged. "Or maybe he just likes the smell and doesn't want to go around sniffing your hair."

Kayla had a sudden vision of Casavir lying in his bed, clutching the open vial to his breast and letting the warmth of his body release the scent.

_Poor, lonely Cas,_ she thought. _He really needs someone to hold. But he's so stubborn... and so foolish. _

Irritation replaced the pity she felt for him. She would be only too happy to replace that scent bottle in his arms, but he was too bull-headed to allow it.

But Casavir was not Cormick. Casavir would not lie with a woman he did not love just to ease his loneliness, and for all Casavir's devotion, he did not love her. His honesty would compel him to say something, if he did, and he had not. And for all that he had just given her a costly gift, he had passed up many opportunities to declare his affection for her only the night before.

Maybe he was waiting for her to say it first... but she could not. She wanted him with an intensity that left her breathless, and she cared for him, in her way, but to _love_ him... that required more than she could possibly give. She was infatuated with him, certainly, but loving someone meant accepting him as he was, with all his faults, and putting his happiness ahead of her own. It was a promise she was not sure she could make. There were times that she thought she could, like last night, but then there were other times when she wanted to bash him over the head repeatedly for being so inflexible. She might admire him, she might desire him, she might even care for him, and she was ashamed how much she wanted him to love her, but she could not love him... not yet.

No, she could not lie to Casavir just to get him in her bed, any more than he could lie to her to get her in his.

"You all right?" Neeshka asked.

"Mostly," Kayla said. "Cas is Cas. Wishing never changed anybody. The perfume thing is a bit unnerving, but I'll live."

"So what about Cormick?" Neeshka whispered.

Kayla sighed. It was her own fault, that Neeshka knew about Cormick.

"We're still just friends," she said. "It's hard to explain. Cormick isn't Casavir. He knows he's got needs, and he does what he has to do to make sure they're met, and it's good for me, too. Depending on how you look at it, we're using each other, but if you tilt your head, we're giving to each other, too."

"I'm jealous," Neeshka sighed. "I never in my life lay with a man who 'gave' to me like that. It was always 'take'. No wonder it was never all that he thought it would be. If you want a good lover, you've got to be a good lover. It's really hard to get excited about a man who's just lying there, waiting for the thrills."

"I've been lucky," Kayla admitted, feeling guilty.

"Hey," Neeshka said, swatting her lightly on the arm. "None of that! There's someone for everyone, so I'll find mine, sooner or later. I never thought I'd find friends, either, and now I've got you, and Khelgar, and El and Shandra, and Grobnar, and even Cas, when he forgets I'm a tiefling. Can't say I like Bishop or Qara much, but that's no loss. And your Brother Merring really made me feel at home."

"He had a lot of nice things to say about you this morning, when we were having breakfast at the Starlings'," Kayla smiled. "He found you friendly and charming, and he said he'd be happy to call you a friend. He likes just about everybody who isn't Wyl Mossfeld, though, so don't go getting cocky."

"He's one of the good ones," Neeshka said. "He isn't very good at dancing, though. I don't know who trod on my feet more, Brother Merring, Cas, or Khelgar."

"You danced with Casavir?" Kayla was amazed at that. "Didn't he make you itch?"

"Well, yeah," Neeshka giggled, "and he was trying to keep from scratching himself, the whole time, but it was still fun. He's all right with the slow dances, but I don't think he knows how long his legs are. He takes these great big steps, and next thing you know, your feet are mashed."

Kayla giggled, too. The big ox. Put the yoke of courtly behavior on him, and he was fine, but let him loose, and he had no idea what to do with his feet... or any other part of him, really. She felt a pang of longing. She wanted to go to him and throw her arms around him, for all his endearing awkwardness, but one glance dissuaded her from it. He was scowling into the darkness, no doubt impatient that Shandra had not yet returned.

His anxiety was justified. Daeghun stepped out of the darkness, and let the light from their torches fall on his face. He looked at her sternly, then stepped back into the night. No matter how fondly he had arranged her childhood toys, Daeghun, at least, wanted her out of West Harbor.

Casavir was beside her.

"My lady," he said hesitantly, "should we not go on ahead? We might split our party, with some riding on to the Weeping Willow. Khelgar and others might remain to guide Shandra there, but it is long since the time you said you would be gone."

"No, Cas," she said gently, "I promised Shandra I wouldn't leave her behind, ever. You would not want me to go back on my word, would you? I can bear Daeghun's displeasure. We'll wait for her until midnight, and if she isn't back by then, we'll go looking for her."

He nodded and went back to stand by Khelgar.

* * *

"Better," Khelgar grunted. Casavir shrugged.

"It irks me that Shandra should be so selfish," Casavir complained. "She knew we must be gone today."

"Young love," Khelgar scowled. "But don't be too hard on Shandra. If Lala was leaving you, maybe forever, would you blame her for wanting to spend a bit more time with you, even if it inconvenienced others?"

Casavir shuddered at Khelgar's words, suddenly cold. Leaving him... forever... no, she would not do that. She _could_ not do that. He would follow, wherever she led.

"She is not my lover," Casavir said, wincing at the waver in his voice. "And Shandra has known Bevil only two days. It is unseemly that she should give herself to him after so short an acquaintance."

"Cyric's ass, man, you're quick to judge," Khelgar grumbled. "You don't know what they're doing. For all you know, they're just making doe eyes at each other and talking nonsense, like you and Lala."

"I know what they are doing," Casavir said. "I was unfortunate enough to overhear."

"Well, you've got good ears, then," Khelgar snorted. "They've been off together since this afternoon."

"Last night," Casavir muttered. "We were sitting by the stream... admiring the moon... and they... were quite near."

Khelgar laughed heartily.

"That must have been fun, listening to that!" he chortled. "You must have been seven shades of purple."

"You have no idea," Casavir moaned. "It was unbearable."

"Er... Cas..." Khelgar began, "I've got no right, telling you your business, but you're my friend, for all that you're a horse's ass. She's a fine lass, Lala, and she's fond of you, Berronar Truesilver knows why. I reckon she'd make you a good wife, someday, though you're both a bit young to be thinking along those lines. Anyway, you'd be a lot happier, and a lot less edgy, if you let her into your bedroll, every once in a while."

Casavir blanched at the suggestion, then felt the heat of his blush rise as his mutinous body responded to it.

_He did not mean _now,_ fool,_ he chided himself, _and you would not cheapen her virtue, in any case. Go back to sleep._

"Never," Casavir said firmly. "I could not treat her with so little respect, with no cause other than to become a more pleasant companion."

"Don't be daft," Khelgar said. "I didn't mean you should do it just to put a smile on your face, but you might do it because you love her."

"It would be a lie," Casavir confessed. "I admire and respect her, truly, and I am neither blind nor insensible of her beauty, but I have not the gall to lay claim to such emotions."

"Or you don't have the balls to admit it," Khelgar retorted.

"I am no coward," Casavir said, though he tried to keep the anger out of his voice. Khelgar's accusation stung. "I know my heart."

"Do you humans have a god for lost causes?" Khelgar scratched his chin.

"Ilmater, perhaps."

"Well, say a little prayer to him, next time you're on your knees, paladin," Khelgar said. "I reckon he'll have his work cut out for him, with you."

They stood in silence for a while. Khelgar passed Casavir a leather bottle, and he drank from it before remembering that Khelgar did not always fill all his water bottles with water. The firewhiskey burned his throat, and made him cough, but he passed it back without comment, and accepted it again, next time it was offered. It was a rather large bottle. Khelgar could spare a mouthful or two.

"So," Khelgar said, at length. "Guess you don't think much of Shandra."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You won't touch Lala because you think she's all pure and innocent, but you told me you heard Shandra and Bevil going at it with a straight face. Guess Shandra isn't quite so untouchable."

"I have no illusions about Shandra," Casavir said softly.

"Meaning?"

"I have a confession to make," Casavir said heavily, "and I pray you will forgive me."

"You didn't!" Khelgar's eyebrows were in danger of disappearing under the rim of his helmet.

"No," Casavir said, "I did not, though I was only prevented by Cormick's timely arrival. It was the night we went to the Moonstone Mask. I had drunk more than was wise, and was utterly unguarded. I came upon Shandra while she was adjusting her gown, and she asked for my assistance. I was weak."

"So who started it, you or her?" Khelgar might be coarse, but Casavir could see the point he was making.

"I did," Casavir all but groaned. "She wanted me to lace her gown, and I took liberties. Yet for all that, she did not rebuke me. She needed no encouragement to..."

"How far did it get?" Khelgar looked at him soberly.

"She knows more about me than my tailor," Casavir admitted, his face burning.

"You're a piece of work, Cas," Khelgar groaned, though Casavir thought he sounded sympathetic. "And this is what happens when you don't do what comes natural. You know who you want, and unless you get off your high horse, and stop putting Lala on it with you, you're asking for trouble."

"I can control myself," Casavir protested.

"Yeah, right," Khelgar harrumphed. "Just one piece of advice, and I hope you take it."

"Yes?"

"You can't hold your drink," Khelgar stated the obvious. "So if you're going to do any more drinking, make sure that Kayla is with you, or myself. If you start getting randy with Lala, well, I reckon you'll sort things out yourselves, and if she isn't with you, I can keep you in line."

Casavir nodded.

"I can live with that," he said. "Thank you, Khelgar. I have wanted to get that off my chest."

"I still think you're making a mistake," Khelgar said. "But you're a grown man, the way you humans see things. It's a pity, that humans get the ability to breed before they get the sense to do it wisely."

"Indeed," Casavir agreed, accepting the flask again. "Will we reach the Weeping Willow by dawn?"

"Unlikely," Khelgar muttered, taking it back. "But there's still half a bottle or better. It's something to do."

* * *

It was nearing midnight before Shandra and Bevil reappeared. Kayla thought Bevil looked tormented, but he said farewell, and watched them ride away.

"Sorry," Shandra said. "I kept trying to leave, and he got upset."

"I know," Kayla sighed. "I don't blame you for wanting to stay a little longer, either. Bevil's an old friend, and I'd just as soon spare his feelings as much as possible."

"He's taking it pretty hard," Shandra said. "I wouldn't have even agreed to go to the dance with him, if I thought he was going to get so attached so quickly."

"He doesn't have a lot of experience with women," Kayla said loyally. "At least you know it meant something to him."

"Yeah," Shandra agreed, though she did not sound happy about it. "Too much. Er... what do you mean, he doesn't have much experience? He sure seemed like he knew what he was doing."

"I'm not talking about his skill," Kayla explained. "I'm talking about the women he's been with. I don't know what he's been doing since I left, but I do know two of the women, and neither one was looking for a future. You probably encouraged him when you said you wished you could stay. He would have thought you were staying for him."

"Maybe I would have, for a while, anyway," Shandra said. "He isn't the best looking man I've been with, and he might even be the worst, but he was probably the best in bed. Do you really think he could have fallen in love that fast?"

"Bevil?" Kayla raised an eyebrow. "Absolutely. Think about it. He's been entertaining Laurel Potts, but he knows that Laurel is just looking for someone to warm her bed and show her a good time. The first woman he lay with chose him because somebody had to be the first, and it was better if it was a friend -"

"You?" Shandra looked at her curiously. Kayla looked around for Casavir, but he was up front, riding with Khelgar. Kayla nodded.

"The night of the Harvest Fair," Kayla said. "Neither one of us had any idea what we were doing, so if he got good at it, he didn't learn anything from me."

"Ah, hells," Shandra swore. "Just once, I want to get something you haven't had a claim on first."

"What?" Kayla shook her head, puzzled.

"First Cas, now Bevil... " Shandra's voice trailed off when she saw Kayla's shocked expression.

"You... lay... with Casavir?" Kayla finally managed to choke out.

"Not exactly," Shandra said. "Cormick walked in before... er.... sorry. You probably didn't want to hear that."

Kayla couldn't breathe. Bishop had been mistaken. It was no lush-bodied harlot that drew Casavir's attention, but Shandra. Her imagination supplied the image of handsome, virile Casavir grappling intimately with Shandra, tearing his clothing in his haste to take her.

Cormick had lied to her. He had asked her what Casavir told her of the incident before responding. At the time, Kayla thought he was just trying to avoid repeating what was already known, but now, she knew that Cormick was covering for Casavir. But if Cormick lied, he had the lie from Casavir himself. Casavir, paladin of Tyr, had deceived her.

The shock was so great, she failed to notice a low branch hanging out over the road. It caught her in the chest and knocked her off her horse. She landed hard, and sat there, stunned.

Shandra dismounted herself and ran to her side.

"El!" Shandra shouted. "Come quick! Kayla's had a fall."

"I'm all right!" Kayla said quickly, getting to her feet and pulling away from Elanee. Casavir hovered anxiously beside her. Kayla could not bear to look at him. She ran off into the swamp a ways, but she heard Casavir crashing through the underbrush in pursuit.

"My lady!" he called. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing, Cas," Kayla heard Shandra say firmly. "Kayla and I need to have a talk. You go back to Minnow, all right, and I'll get Kayla back up on Peaches."

Kayla heard him grumble, but he complied with the request.

She could hardly believe what her ears told her. Was it all a lie? When they first rescued Shandra, Kayla had convinced herself that Casavir was in love with her. After that, she realized that he did not love her. Now, she did not know what to think. He had accepted... nay, encouraged... Shandra's advances, while rejecting Kayla's. What conclusion should she draw from that? Yet he had not continued his pursuit of Shandra. Why?

Kayla was suddenly reminded of Cormick's grim determination that he should look for Casavir himself. He knew that Kayla had an interest in Casavir. She had made no secret of it, to Cormick. Had Cormick told Casavir of her infatuation with him, and warned him off Shandra to avoid hurting his friend? It seemed unlikely, but it must be true. Casavir might have shown no special regard for Shandra in the tendays since, but then, the paladin was a fine actor. He hid his feelings from even himself, so Kayla could hardly be surprised if he hid them from her. No wonder he had been unmoved by the chaplain's letter... and no wonder he had been more distant toward her, the first leg of the trip. If he was pining for Shandra, he might well resent the woman who kept them apart.

She would have to talk to him, let him know that she would not hold him back, if he wanted to pursue a relationship with Shandra. Shandra, too, must be finding this hard to bear. Emotional pain might easily explain Shandra's sudden coldness toward Casavir, lately.

"Shandra," Kayla breathed, "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I have no right to stand between you and Cas... if you still want him."

"Want Cas?" Shandra snorted. "Not on your life! OK, I did for a while. That night at the Mask, I thought all my dreams had come true. But then, he goes and says that he lost control because he was daydreaming about somebody else, and that was the end of that. You don't want him, cut him loose, but don't go foisting him off on me, just because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"This is all too confusing." Kayla kicked at a puddle.

"You've got that right," Shandra said. "But now you know. I don't want Cas, he doesn't want me, and he's completely free and available to any woman who can put up with him."

"I don't know what to think, anymore," Kayla said, "so the best thing is not to think anything. Nothing has changed. I'd probably be better off just letting the whole thing drop and forgetting we even had this conversation."

Her breath caught. There was still the matter of Casavir's dishonesty.

"Are you all right?" Shandra asked softly.

"Cas lied to me," Kayla said flatly. "He led me to believe that he'd been with a prostitute."

"Oh, well, that's good to know!" Shandra snorted. "Rejection wasn't bad enough, I've got to have insults hurled at me, too! The prick."

"I don't think he was insulting you," Kayla's anger deflated a bit. "I think he was protecting you. He seems to think that respectable women don't have sex. Ridiculous, I know, but that's Cas for you. He wouldn't want people to think you wanton."

"So he'd rather they thought that he had to resort to whores?" Shandra sounded like she didn't believe her.

"I never said it made sense," Kayla shrugged.

"You're taking this rather well," Shandra smiled. Kayla felt a lot better, all of a sudden.

"It was enough to make me fall off my horse," she laughed. "But I've just got one more question for you. It's kind of personal, so if you don't want to answer, I understand."

"Go ahead."

"What was it like, making love to Cas?"

"Intense," Shandra replied, blushing. "Kind of like a bull in heat."

"Oh," Kayla gulped. All the kisses she had shared with him had been so restrained, she had trouble believing him capable of such passion. The knowledge that he could behave with such abandon thrilled her. "And..."

"And... oh, come on!" Shandra blurted. "You don't want me to describe it for you, do you?"

"No," Kayla said quickly, "I just wondered what he... er... looks like..."

"About the same as he looks dressed," Shandra chuckled, "but with less clothes. He's got the best body I've ever seen, but you've seen him with his shirt off before, and we didn't really take off all that much clothing... oh. Er... well, I didn't exactly stop to measure, and I wouldn't tell you if I did. It's his secret, and if he wants you to know, he'll show you himself."

"Thanks," Kayla said, and meant it. "I asked because I couldn't help myself, but you're right. It's his secret. I can't believe I asked."

"So what are you going to tell him?" Shandra asked. "He isn't going to give you a moment's peace until you tell him why you fell off your horse."

"The truth," Kayla said firmly. "At least about this."

"Are you going to tell him about Cormick, as well?" Shandra asked innocently, as they walked back to the horses. "Or about you and Bevil?"

"I tried to tell him about Bevil, and he wouldn't even listen," Kayla sighed. "As for Cormick, I don't know. I hate hiding things from him, but you know Cas."

Shandra sighed.

"Yeah," she agreed, "I know Cas. If he finds out, he'll probably think Cormick acted against your will. He doesn't quite understand that women can ask for it, too, or at least not you. He thought he'd pressured me into it, that night at the Mask, and I just about tore his leggings off. I don't even want to think about what he'd do to Cormick if he thought Cormick forced himself on you. Not many people know. El won't say anything about it. She doesn't pay much attention to human mating habits. Neesh won't talk out of turn -"

"Unless she gets babbling and forgets that Cas doesn't know," Kayla said sourly. She loved the tiefling like a sister, but Neeshka was no not the most secure of confidantes.

"He'd have to bring it up, first," Shandra said. "And he wouldn't. I'm more worried about Qara."

"Qara has something on me," Kayla said. "I'm not happy about that. I almost wish she were Bishop. Bishop, at least, I could have trusted not to let that slip unless there was something in it for him. I wouldn't be surprised if Qara just blurted it out the first time she got bored, just to see the sparks fly."

"You're probably right," Shandra agreed. "Still, it didn't involve her, personally, so she's probably forgotten all about it. Go on. You'd better talk to Cas. He hasn't so much as twitched since we started talking, so he must be pretty anxious."

"Right," Kayla sighed, walking toward him.

* * *

Casavir had not yet mounted. He watched The Lady and Shandra talking, though they were too far away to hear what they said. He was close enough, however, to see their movements, and he was certain that they both looked at him, at more than one point. Were they speaking of him?

Khelgar's firewhiskey did nothing to dispel the chill he felt at that realization. There were few things Shandra knew about him that The Lady did not, and he did not want her to discover any of them. But what could he do, with the rest of the party gathered about him?

Khelgar was beside him. The dwarf pressed the leather bottle into his hand, and he drained it, without thinking, then stood motionless, wishing he possessed the talent of reading lips.

"It'll be all right, lad," Khelgar mumbled, prying Casavir's fingers from around his now-empty flask. "Confession is good for the soul."

"What if..." Casavir breathed.

"No 'what if's," the dwarf said firmly. "What will be will be."

"They're coming this way," Casavir said, shaking.

"Buck up, lad," Khelgar encouraged him. "Go help her saddle up. She'll talk to you if she wants to."

The firewhiskey he had drunk had begun to send warm, numbing tendrils through his mind. He felt sluggish, perhaps, but more open, somehow, and more relaxed than the situation might have suggested.

"My lady?" he breathed.

"You smell like Khelgar," The Lady smiled.

Casavir held her reins for her, and steadied a stirrup, if she wished to mount. She touched his hand on the leather. She unwrapped his fingers from the reins and passed them to Shandra.

"I want to talk to you about something," she said. "Can we step away from the others a bit?"

Casavir nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat. He led her off the trail, and waited for her to speak.

"I know about you and Shandra," she said. "Don't be angry with her. She did not break faith with you."

"If she told you, she has," Casavir heard himself say. "I would have carried that knowledge to the grave, rather than have you think less of Shandra."

"Who said I think less of Shandra?" The Lady smiled. "I don't blame her for wanting you, or for acting on it. I just wanted to know how you feel about it."

She took his hand, and stroked it gently.

"I know you, Cas," she said. "I know you aren't always open about your feelings, and I've learned that you can lie, if it protects those you care about. If you want Shandra, I will not stand in your way."

"My lady!" Casavir gasped, horrified. "I do not desire Shandra."

"It's all right, Cas," she said. "I know how reserved you are, around everyone else, and for you to open up to her like that, she must be something pretty special."

"No, my lady," he said, grabbing her shoulder in his earnestness. "She means no more to me than any of your other companions. I was weak, and I am sorry."

Damn Khelgar and his firewhiskey. Casavir's head was clouded with it. He longed to confess his heart's true desire. Thankfully, he was still sober enough to prevent it. Gods, no! That was not his heart's desire! He was more drunk than he had thought, if he imagined that he wanted The Lady. But now, with the firewhiskey coursing through his veins, he was having some trouble differentiating between what he did and did not want.

"Are you all right?" she asked him. "You've been staring at the ground for a while."

"Indeed," he said. "I am ashamed of my behavior."

"Yes, Cas," she said, sounding almost playful, "you've been a very naughty boy, being merely human, and I'm going to punish you for it."

"I deserve it," he said softly.

Her arms were around him. Instinctively, he drew back, but she held him securely. Her fingers laced behind his head, and she pulled it down. He resisted, but she was merciless... and far stronger than he expected. Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed him firmly, on the lips.

He shuddered at the contact, but he found himself returning her embrace... and her kiss. For a moment, the ghost of the passion he had felt with Shandra ruled him. His hands stroked her braids and pulled her face against his. Thankfully, she was fully armored, or he would have been lost.

"Umm..." she said, breaking his trance. "Firewhiskey?"

He tore himself away, shaking.

"Gods," he breathed. "What have I done..."

She took his hands, again.

"It's all right, Cas," she whispered. "You're all right. I'm sorry."

"No," he said, "it was inexcusable. I've been drinking. Please, forgive me. I should not have been so forward."

"Oh, Cas," she sighed. She embraced him again, but she laid her head against his chest. He took several steadying breaths, then touched her cheek.

"My lady," he said, "you are weary. It is past midnight, and the Weeping Willow is still many miles distant."

"Yes," she said. "It's late, and I'm half dead on my feet. It's been quite a night."

"Ride with me," he whispered. "I won't risk you to another fall. Minnow can bear us both."

She smiled her acquiescence.

Casavir mounted first, then Shandra handed The Lady up to him. He set her before him on the saddle, and wrapped his free arm about her waist. Even through her armor and his, he could feel her warmth, and the scent of her hair bewitched him, but he could see her safely to the Weeping Willow.

Before they had traveled a league, she was asleep in his arms. They might not reach the inn by dawn, but he did not care.

* * *

_Note: A slyther is a wooden ball covered in leather, used in hurley. It looks a great deal like a baseball, actually, though its seams are raised, and it is a little smaller in diameter._


	41. Friends and Adversaries

Disclaimer: Everyone but Kayla is on loan from Obsidian.

* * *

It took ten days to reach Neverwinter, but Duncan welcomed them cheerfully, and fretted over their wet, scraggly state. It had been raining for several days, and they had been obliged to make camp in the open the night before. Kayla was surprised, but delighted, that Duncan already had rooms prepared for them.

"I know how long it takes to get from West Harbor to Neverwinter," Duncan explained. "Didn't think my brother would want you hanging around. Thought you'd make it in last night, though. Did you have trouble?"

"We hit a mudslide," Kayla explained. "It took out part of the road, and we could not find our way around in the dark, so we had to complete the journey today. How is everything here?"

"Same as always," Duncan grinned. "So what'll it be? Baths first, food first, or beds?"

"Food," Bishop said, "and ale. Lots of ale."

"Who asked you?" Duncan scowled.

"Breakfast would be welcome," Kayla smiled. "We weren't anywhere near an inn, last night, and we had no gear with us, this trip, so we haven't had anything since yesterday morning. But baths after that."

"What's the matter with you, traveling without even your tents?" Duncan snorted. "The horses don't mind the extra weight."

"So Bishop has been reminding me since yesterday afternoon," Kayla said sourly. "There are inns every fifteen miles along that road, so I didn't expect to be caught out. Besides, who expects it to rain for four days straight in Eleasis? Anyway, I won't be making that mistake again."

"All right, I'll put in an order for breakfast," Duncan said. He handed her a pack of keys. "You pass them out, will you? There's two for your room, and two for Casavir's. I'm putting him in the one next to yours, again, for good. It's smaller than most people like, so I don't rent it out very often anyway, but Cas doesn't ask for much, and it saves having to find the spares every time you check in."

"Er... thanks, Uncle Duncan," she hesitated. "But Cas and I..."

"What?" Duncan raised an eyebrow. "You sharing a room, now?"

"No, not at all," she said quickly, "thanks."

She passed out the keys her uncle gave her, reserving only the duplicates.

"What do you say, Cas?" she asked him. "You did not want a key to my room before."

"If you're passing them out, I'll take one," Bishop said roguishly.

"Not on your life," Kayla said flatly.

"Do you think he's man enough to know what to do once he's in there?" Bishop sneered.

Casavir said nothing, but he took the key from her hand and put it on the same leather thong as his own before stashing both in his belt pouch. Bishop fumed and sputtered, but Casavir appeared to ignore him, although as he turned away, Kayla thought she detected the barest hint of a smile.

"So, Princess," Bishop rubbed his whiskers, "what's the plan? Another three months of standing around, watching the paladin make an ass of himself?"

"No," Kayla said, glancing at the man in question. "That was too long to stay idle. You'd better track me down some kind of a lead soon, or we'll be at each others' throats inside a tenday."

"Right now, the only thing I want to track is a slab of meat, a gallon or so of ale, and a soft pair of thighs," Bishop replied. "So what do you say, Princess? Does your pillow need plumping?"

"As a matter of fact, it does," Kayla rolled her eyes. "Would you see to it, Cas?"

Casavir inclined his head obediently, but Kayla saw him hide another smile behind his hand. He slung her pack over his shoulder beside his own and walked toward the stair, waving greetings to one of the porters in passing.

The last tenday had been awkward, moreso, perhaps, than the previous ones, where they barely spoke. Kayla had expected things to be smoother between them, now that she knew the truth about what had passed between Casavir and Shandra, but she had been wrong, in that. Casavir's dishonesty still hung over them both like a pall. She knew that the matter was of no significance. With the mystery of the shards, a warlock, and shadow monsters still unsolved, Kayla had far more important things to worry about than a harmless falsehood perpetrated by a paladin, but she could not put it aside. Her own duplicity only made it worse. If he had been less than completely honest with her, she had all but lied to him outright. Her guilt was compounded because Casavir had perjured himself to save a friend, but Kayla protected only her own interests. Still, Casavir was a paladin, and paladins should not lie. Illogically, she felt betrayed, though she knew she was in the wrong, not him.

For his part, Casavir seemed to sense her distrust and her disappointment, and be grieved by it. He was attentive to the point of servility, but there was an uneasy edge to it, as if the time he spent in her company were penance, not a reward. It hurt to see him so humbled. Baiting Bishop was about the only thing that brought out a hint of the Cas she knew. He rallied for that, so she indulged in the pastime whenever possible.

"So," Bishop drawled, "while your watchdog is upstairs polishing his holy symbol, what do you say we find a corner and work up an appetite?"

"I've already got one, thanks," she replied distractedly. Casavir was certainly taking a long time to carry two packs upstairs.

"I thought you liked a hefty piece of meat," Bishop leered, brushing his hip against her.

"I do," Kayla purred, "which is why I'm not going to spoil my appetite on you."

Someone coughed behind her.

"My lady?" Casavir interrupted. "May I fetch you a cup of wine?"

"You've taught him to fetch?" Bishop laughed. "How clever. I thought he could only roll over and play dead. Or is that only in bed?"

"Thanks, anyway, Cas," Kayla ignored Bishop, "but I'd better not drink on an empty stomach. I think breakfast must be just about ready, but I forbid you to fetch or carry one more thing today. Stay here with me, Cas. Bishop was just entertaining me with a story about ranger jerky."

"Ranger jerky?" Casavir raised an arched eyebrow.

"You know," Kayla fought to keep from smiling, "tough, stringy, looks a bit diseased. I think they keep it in their leggings."

Casavir choked, but he sounded like he was covering a laugh. He sobered quickly, though, and made a sketchy bow to her.

"Forgive me, my lady," Casavir said, "but I find that I have an urgent errand across the street. I shall not be long... unless you would care to accompany me."

"How urgent can it be, Cas?" she asked. "You just got back! Look, they're bringing breakfast out now. Can't you wait until after you've eaten?"

"As you wish," he replied. She sighed. He really was too compliant, but she did not know what to do to restore his confidence.

After breakfast, Casavir excused himself to run his errand, and Kayla went up for her bath. She had an errand herself, and she did not look forward to it.

Cormick had been a good friend. He asked no questions and made no demands. He had opened a world of pleasure to her, but it was over. She could no longer go to Cormick four times a tenday when she begrudged Casavir even one evening's release with another woman. Her hypocrisy had limits, and she was exceeding them. Cormick had said that she might stop at any time and he would not hold it against her. It was time to see if he was as good as his word. She had no doubt that he would be, but she hoped their friendship would not suffer for it.

When she got to Cormick's office, he was out, and Jenna was sitting officiously at his desk.

"The marshal is unavailable, and I have the desk" the former-sergeant/former-supply-clerk/apparent-acting-sergeant informed her smugly. "If you elect to leave a message, I will make sure that he gets it."

"Kindly tell him that Kayla called," she rolled her eyes. Jenna back on the desk and bad news from her waiting for him? Poor Cormick. Still, it would be a shame to ruin a good day, so perhaps it would go better if he were already vexed with Jenna.

Kayla toured the Watch posts on her way back to the Flagon. She was still officially on leave, but the enthusiastic greetings of her men cheered her, and the new Watch building was coming along nicely. It had a roof now, and the glaziers had begun their work. The foreman gave her a quick tour of the interior of the building, and she saw that the plasterers were already about half done. The man said that he believed the structure might be in use by the end of Eleasis, well ahead of schedule. She praised his diligence and the industry of the men under his supervision, thanked him for the tour, and returned to the inn.

Usually, when they intended a quiet night at home, her companions ranged themselves throughout the room, clustering in smaller, fluid groups, but tonight, they all sat at one long table, passing pitchers of ale and snacking on bread and fruit. Kayla took a seat between Neeshka and Elanee, across from Grobnar and Khelgar.

"Is it always this warm in Neverwinter?" Elanee asked, fanning herself. Kayla could sympathize. The Mere tended to be humid, but it was rarely this brutally hot, nor quite so steamy.

"Not usually, no," Neeshka said. "Usually, there's a breeze off the harbor that cools things down, but not today."

"I think I'm going to go lie down for a while," Elanee said. "This heat seems to sap my energy."

"I'll join you," Bishop suggested, "I know what would put some spring in your step."

"Thanks for the offer, Bishop," Elanee rolled her eyes, "but the last thing I want is another body heating up my room."

Elanee waved farewell and got up from the table.

"Ah, well," Bishop grunted. "Off to find a whore. Are you busy, Princess?"

Khelgar glared at him, but he just walked away, laughing.

Elanee had a point, Kayla reflected. It was too warm, today. After her bath, she had been unable to bring herself to wear more than a thin, sleeveless singlet and her lightest leggings, but she still felt overheated. If she felt immodest, being so scantily dressed, she was in good company. Shandra had opted for the same, and Qara wore only a chemise. Khelgar and Bishop, too, wore sleeveless singlets, as did most of the other male patrons. Only Grobnar and Neeshka were fully dressed, though they both looked miserable in their sweaty tunics. She wondered what Casavir was wearing. She looked around for him, but she did not see him.

"Where's Cas?" she asked.

"Still in his bath," Khelgar grunted. "He only got back a few moments before you did, and went straight upstairs."

"Ah," Kayla said. "Are you all right, Grobnar? You look a little peaked."

"It's the heat," the gnome replied. "Makes me feel a little woozy."

"You don't look good at all," Kayla observed. "I think you need a lie-down, too, and some water. Come on. I'll get you settled."

She stopped at the bar long enough to get a pitcher of water and a cup, then led Grobnar up to his room. The gnome gratefully stripped off tunic and shirt and stretched out on his bed. Kayla sat next to him on the bed, and poured a bit of the water into the cup, and a bit more into the bowl on the washstand. She dipped a rag into the bowl and dabbed the wet cloth over the bard's face.

"You don't do well in the heat, do you, Grobnar?" she asked.

"Not really, no," he sighed. "It was cool, back home, with breezes off the mountain."

"A real blessing, in summer," Kayla smiled. "It was a bit cooler in the Mere, too, though we didn't have any mountains, of course."

She put the cup in his hand and helped him sit up a bit to drink his water.

"Do you want me to stay with you until you're feeling better?" she asked.

"That's kind of you," Grobnar smiled wearily, "but I think maybe I'll just close my eyes for a while. Goodnight."

Kayla smiled indulgently at him, then got up, unsure whether she should close the shutters or leave them open. The shutters let in the light, but they also let in the air. The room was already stifling. She left them open. The gnome was probably too weary to let a little daylight keep him awake.

The last few days had been hard on all of them. The rain had been a constant annoyance, but the heat had made it feel like they rode through steam. None of them would risk overheating the horses, so they moved at a slow walk. The last night, they had been obliged to camp out, though they had not so much as a square of canvas for shelter, and, as the choices were lying on the rocks or lying in the mud, they had spent the night on rocks. Kayla's back and one hip still hurt from it.

She wondered how Casavir was faring. Even Eleasis heat in Neverwinter would not trouble him, accustomed as he was to training in all weather wearing gambeson and armor, but he always moved more slowly in the morning, until he had a chance to walk off the stiffness. He never complained, but he was no longer one and twenty, and a life of deprivation had left him with joints that needed exercise to loosen up. The damp would only have made it worse. He must be sore, after last night's uncomfortable roost. He certainly walked like the pain was lasting longer than usual, today. Maybe later, he would allow her to ease some of his discomfort.

When she got back to the common room, she found that Cormick had arrived during her absence. He greeted her happily, and hugged her affectionately.

"Glad to see you made it back in one piece!" he beamed, kissing her on the cheek. "It hasn't been the same without you."

"I saw," Kayla smiled, taking her abandoned seat. Cormick sat beside her, in the chair Elanee had left.

"Jenna?" Cormick scowled. "That's about the worst of it. She went over my head to Brelaina, and I was forced to reinstate her as my sergeant. I can't wait for your leave to end. I can't do anything about Jenna, but it'll sure be good to have a friend in the office."

"I'm looking forward to coming back," Kayla patted his hand. "But I've still got my own case to work on."

"I know," Cormick shook his head. "I'm a bastard for saying so, but I hope it takes years. The men are complaining about Jenna already, and it hasn't even been a tenday. And did you see the new Watch building? It's a marvel. You did fine work, with that."

"Give credit where it's due," Kayla said, blushing. "The Watch building is as much your doing as it is mine. And it isn't like either of us did more than shuffle papers over it."

"We did good work," he grinned, tapping tankards with her.

"You're out of uniform," Kayla observed. Cormick, too, had stripped to as little clothing as decency allowed.

"I took the rest of the day off," he said. "So I'm going to spend it drinking with you, Khelgar, and Cas, and earn the headache Jenna will give me tomorrow. Where is Cas, anyway?"

"Bathing," Kayla answered, but it was unnecessary, as Casavir was just walking up to them now. He took Grobnar's seat, across from Cormick. Kayla stared. He, too, had donned a sleeveless shirt in the heat, and his muscular shoulders and arms reminded her that perhaps the massage she hoped he would accept was not as altruistic as she intended. Kayla covered her embarrassment by pouring ale for both men.

Qara pushed a bowl of nuts toward Casavir.

"Eat up," the sorceress said. "Kayla likes her men with a bit of a paunch."

Kayla groaned. It was all coming out now, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She should have known that Qara would choose the worst possible time to tell her secret. She glanced nervously at Shandra and Neeshka, but both women seemed to have fallen conveniently deaf.

Casavir turned to look at the sorceress.

"Excuse me?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Or maybe she just likes it on Cormick," Qara said, feigning innocence. "Oh, I'm sorry. Was that supposed to be a secret?"

"Some secret!" Cormick laughed. He stood up and turned so Casavir could see him in profile. He patted his belly fondly. "Kind of hard to miss, don't you think? I wear my tunics loose, but it doesn't seem to help."

Kayla felt faint.

* * *

"Or maybe she just likes it on Cormick," Qara just said. Casavir could only stare. Was she implying what he thought she was implying?

He never heard the Harborman's laughing dismissal. His blood pounded in his ears.

The Lady had seen Cormick naked. Had he forced himself on her? Did the Harborman presume to court her, after all, and had he done so with so little regard for her honor? Once again, he heard Cormick warning him away from her, but this time, he could see the Harborman's greed. He wanted her for himself, and with Casavir safely out of the way, there was nothing to prevent him from taking her, whether she wished it or not. Perhaps he had already done so.

He was rising to his feet before he even knew he moved. Cormick's office be damned, he would teach the Harborman not to violate a lady's honor.

A hand grabbed him roughly by the belt and jerked him back into his chair. Fingers like iron bands tightened on his arm. Khelgar's surname was aptly given.

"Wait for it," Khelgar hissed in his ear. "You don't know the whole story."

"So," he heard Qara ask coyly, "are you denying that Kayla's been in your bed? You have slept with her, haven't you?"

"Lots of times," Cormick snorted, looking levelly at Casavir. Casavir could no longer contain his rage. Fighting off Khelgar's restraints, he stood facing off against Cormick.

"In my dreams," the Harborman finished. Casavir could only blink at him. "I'm not proud of that, but the truth is that it's a lonely job. I don't meet many pretty women, and I meet even fewer decent ones. Sorry, Kayla, I know this isn't something you wanted to hear, but I have to be honest about it."

"I understand," The Lady replied serenely. "It's all right."

"How can you say that, my lady?" he appealed to her. "He has just admitted... polluting himself while thinking of you."

"Haven't you?" Cormick demanded hotly, leaning over the table to stare Casavir in the eye. "Are you really going to stand there in your cloud of righteousness, with Tyr looking down on you, and tell me that Kayla never graced your dreams?"

_Every night,_ Casavir's conscience supplied, unhelpfully. Casavir slumped, gutted. It was an exaggeration, of course, but not by as much as he might have wished.

"Come on, Cas," Cormick said. "I came here to drink with you, not to fight you."

Casavir deliberately reached across the table, seized Cormick's tankard, drained it, and slammed it back down, upside down, in front of the Harborman.

Cormick sighed and shook his head.

"No," he said. "I won't, not with you."

"I think I'm missing something," The Lady said anxiously.

Cormick sat back down and turned to face her.

"It's a quaint Neverwinter street custom," he explained. "I'm surprised Cas knows it, but that doesn't matter. He's just challenged me. I refuse."

"Gentlemen," The Lady said soothingly, "please, be reasonable."

She took Cormick's hand and reached across the table for Casavir's. Her touch was cool against the fire in his blood.

"You're both grown men," she smiled at them, "and none of this is any reason to be upset. I won't say this isn't awkward, but there's no harm done to anyone. Please, won't you shake hands?"

"Are you her lover?" Casavir demanded of Cormick.

"No," Cormick answered levelly. "She is my friend, like you are."

"Is this true?" Casavir asked The Lady.

"Yes," she responded.

Still shaking, Casavir extended his hand. Cormick rose and took it, then shook it solemnly. Both men sat back down.

Casavir righted Cormick's tankard and poured half of his own into it.

"I'm in your seat," Cormick said, grinning.

"Do not trouble yourself," Casavir replied. He felt foolish. Everyone in the tavern was staring at him, and The Lady looked like she might weep.

"I apologize," Casavir said. "I should not have caused a scene."

"It's all right, Cas," Cormick said. "No harm in defending a lady's honor. I'm glad she's got you looking out for her."

"That's it?" Qara snorted. "Isn't anybody even going to throw a punch?"

Despite the heat, Casavir went cold. Qara had fabricated the "rumor" just to provoke him. She had played his emotions, for her own amusement. She had goaded him into challenging his friend for no purpose other than to relieve her own boredom. He had humiliated himself in front of a room full of spectators, and she was disappointed because there had been no duel. He could not bear the shame. He fled.

* * *

"Oh, no," Cormick groaned.

"Stop him!" Kayla cried.

"Khelgar?" Cormick appealed to the dwarf.

"I'm on it," Khelgar grunted. He got up and stomped after Casavir. The paladin was heading for the stair, so it was unlikely he'd get far.

"You!" Cormick rounded on Qara. "You selfish little bitch! Give me one reason I shouldn't have you hauled off in chains."

"I'll give you two," Qara snorted. "I didn't break the law, and it isn't my fault he's so touchy. Besides, it's boring as hell around here."

"Get out," Kayla said coldly.

"What?" Qara gasped.

"You heard me," Kayla said. "Just go."

"You can't order me around!" Qara protested.

"You answer to me, Qara," Kayla said. "You can't have forgotten that you're on probation for arson and making terroristic threats to half the Academy. One word from me, and Cormick will have you hauled off to jail, and there's nobody here who will help you."

Cormick raised his eyebrows appreciatively at Kayla's move. He had forgotten that Qara was under Kayla's custody.

"So what's it going to be, Qara?" he asked. "Do you go quietly up to your room and stay there, or do I revoke your probation?"

"It isn't fair!" the sorceress whined. "I didn't say one thing that wasn't true!"

Cormick rolled his eyes.

"You just drove away the only person in Neverwinter that cares about truth or fairness where you're concerned," he told her. "Personally, I'm guessing he'd rather run you through, but he's a paladin, so he can't let his emotions influence the execution of his duty. Now what's it going to be? Do you go quietly or do I call the Watch?"

"Like I wanted to spend the rest of the evening with you morons anyway!" Qara snorted and stomped off toward the stair.

Now that Qara was gone, and Casavir, too, Cormick didn't know what to say. He had to talk to Kayla, about something important, but it just didn't seem like the right time. Still, he had to do it soon, or Kaiya would arrive, and Kayla would find out the hard way. He owed his friend and fellow Harborman the decency of an explanation.

"Listen, Kayla," he began, "there's something I wanted to talk to you about before Cas gets back. It's nothing secret, or anything, but I don't want to tear you away from Cas, so maybe we can step aside for a moment?"

"Sure, Cormick," she replied, suiting action to words. "What's on your mind."

"I don't know how to tell you this, Kayla," he said, smiling to soften the blow, "but there's been some changes. I don't want this to affect our friendship, but that's all it can be, if you know what I mean."

"I think so," Kayla said. She looked concerned, but she didn't look unhappy about it. That was encouraging. He'd been dreading this moment for days. Maybe it would work out, after all.

"There's a woman, Kayla," he sighed. "Her name is Kaiya... I'm not making this up... and... well, I think I'm falling in love with her."

"Kaiya?" Kayla asked, her eyes wide. "I think I know her! Is she Rashemi, by any chance?"

"As a matter of fact, she is!" Cormick replied, surprised.

"Oh, Cormick!" she grinned. "That's wonderful news! Like I said, I met her, and she seemed honorable, and very agreeable. Khelgar liked her, anyway, and he isn't easy to please. I couldn't be happier for you. So how did you meet?"

"She'd been up in Icewind Dale," Cormick said, relaxing at her easy acceptance. "She hadn't had a lot of luck, adventuring, and she was out of money and trying to finance her return trip to Rasheman by arm wrestling. Now, I'm no slouch, I'll have you know. I've even beaten Bishop in a fair match, before you got here. But she beat me fair and square, though it took her a while. Well, I figured any woman that could kick my ass like that deserved more than a gold piece for the effort, so I bought her an ale and we got to talking. Turns out she's, well... it's hard to explain. I've never met anyone like her, that's for sure. I got her a job in the Coast Guard, investigating smugglers, and she's decided she likes Neverwinter, and wants to stay on a bit. Thing is, I'm getting attached to her, and, well, I'm thinking that I might ask her if she'll have me, sometime soon. Anyway, there's got to be some changes, if you know what I mean."

Unbelievably, Kayla was still smiling, even more broadly, if that was possible.

"You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that!" she beamed. "I was just getting ready to tell you the same thing."

Cormick laughed.

"So, he finally worked his courage up, eh?" he chuckled.

"No," Kayla said. "He isn't ready yet. But that isn't the point. It's my own fault, really. I found out about Shandra and him, and it was tearing me up. I felt like a real hypocrite, running off with you, but getting jealous about what happened. So no, everything is still the same between Casavir and me, but my conscience is easier, this way."

"I wish it was better news," Cormick shook his head.

"Thanks," Kayla smiled. "But the truth is that I'm not sure I do. If he told me tomorrow that he loved me and wanted to marry me, I'd have to turn him down, because I'm not ready for that. I wouldn't kick him out of bed, though. He's too handsome for his own good."

"He isn't my type," Cormick grinned. "Come on, the others will wonder why we're standing in a corner, laughing our asses off. If Khelgar can get Cas back downstairs, I'd like to tell him about Kaiya myself. You might say he's not ready, but that was as fine a fit of jealous fury as I've ever seen. Might as well ease his mind as quickly as possible."

"He wasn't jealous," Kayla protested. "He was just worried about honor, and all that."

Cormick rolled his eyes. The hells, Cas wasn't jealous. It restored his faith in humanity, to see the paladin so worked up. He loved her, all right, even if he was too proud to admit it. Maybe she was right. Maybe all it needed was time. Cormick was skeptical, though. He wouldn't crack that easily.

Cormick almost wished he dared tell Casavir the truth. A man like Casavir could hold on forever, clinging to soft glances and a little hand holding, which was why he'd forbidden him to do that in the first place, for all the good that did. He'd play the martyr, and rub himself raw over a handful of guilty fantasies, but it would take more than that to make him confess the urgings of his heart. No, Casavir would have to lose her to admit to himself what, exactly, he had lost. Idiot.

"If you say so," Cormick sighed. "Anyway, I think I see them on the stair. I'll meet you at the table in a moment."

Cormick intercepted Casavir and Khelgar before they reached the table.

"Can I have a word with you, Cas?" he asked. "I've got a confession to make."

"I am not a priest," Casavir said, blinking at him.

"That's good," Cormick smiled. "I'd hoped you'd hear me as a friend."

"I'll meet you back at the table," Khelgar grunted, and stomped off.

Cormick took the paladin's elbow and steered him toward the bar. He ordered two ales and waited for Sal to produce them before leading Casavir to an empty table.

"Drink to my happiness," he said, raising his glass, "and my idiocy."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm working up the nerve to ask a woman if she'll have me," Cormick smiled. The look on Casavir's face was priceless. Shock, jealousy, bafflement, all did battle on the paladin's too-handsome face.

"Do I know the lady?" Casavir asked politely.

"You've met her, perhaps," Cormick said. "At least Kayla did. Her name is Kaiya, and she's Rashemi."

"I remember," Casavir said. "A striking woman, as I recall."

"That isn't the half of it," Cormick said happily. "Never met a woman like her."

"Is this not rather sudden?" Casavir tried to hide his concern.

"Maybe," Cormick admitted slyly, "but I know what I like, and she seems to like me well enough. A woman like that... well, if I don't act fast, somebody else is going to snatch her up, and I'll be left with nothing but regrets."

"You might still have your fill of those, if you do claim her," Casavir said, after a pause.

Cormick sighed.

_Well, he's nothing, if not predictable,_ he thought. _The idiot has no idea that I'm talking about him as much as myself. Still, might as well carry on. Something has to sink in, sooner or later._

"Maybe," Cormick shrugged, "but I'd rather regret something I've done than something I haven't. Nothing worse than looking back on your life and realizing the only thing you had was a handful of 'what if's."

"You've known her less than two tendays," Casavir warned him.

"That's right," Cormick agreed. "But sometimes, you just know. How long did you know Kayla before you realized that you could talk to her about anything without feeling like a fool?"

"Two days," Casavir admitted, "yet I have not taken up residence with her."

"Oh?" Cormick raised an eyebrow. "So, I suppose you'll be sleeping somewhere else tonight."

"I am not lying with her," Casavir insisted. Cormick shook his head. It was hopeless.

"Are you going to wish me well, or not?" he laughed.

"I wish you well," Casavir sighed, draining his cup. "Though I think you're a fool."

"Maybe," Cormick grinned, "but I'll be a happy one. Come on, your lady is waiting... and mine just got here."

* * *

Casavir lit the lamp before closing and locking the door behind him. It had been a long night, and he would be grateful to surrender to sleep, if he could get any rest, with his back as cramped as it was.

He felt like he was a hundred years old. His back hurt, his knees hurt, his shoulder hurt, and he had wind. The latter, he could blame on Sal's cooking, but the first three were nothing more or less than the candle burning through its marks on the way to the grave. He had no right to feel this way. He should be resting, by now. He had earned his peace, had he not? He had fought in wars, given his life to his cause, and still, he lived. Tyr's justice would find him, though perhaps it would not be as speedy as he wished.

Still, his life had its compensations, for all that his reward was yet denied. He spent every day in good company. Khelgar was a stalwart friend, and Cormick, too, perhaps. Like Callum, neither would allow him to retreat into himself. He supposed he must be grateful. He had known few real friendships in his life, and he valued the ones he had found so recently. Even the tiefling was a friend to him, though he found that almost impossible to believe.

And The Lady... he had certainly never had a friend like her... no, he could not think of that, or he would once more commit the crime of which he accused Cormick.

Cormick's liaison had been a surprise. For a man to fall in love so soon... it must be unhealthy, or at least unwise. But for all that, Cormick seemed happy, and his lady, as well.

Helm's beard, but it was a hot night. His window was open wide, and he had not closed the shutters, but the room closed in on him. He was lightly dressed, but even his shirt was too much for this heat. He would need to be cooler, to sleep. He stripped to his smalls, and then, after a moment's pause, removed those, too. No one would trouble him, tonight, as weary as they all were, and he wanted to feel the chill of crisp, smooth linen.

He lay on his bed, but he could not sleep. He felt exposed, with his bare ass on display to the ceiling. He covered the lower half of his body with a linen sheet. That was better.

He was just beginning to drift when he heard the door open.

"Cas?" It was The Lady's voice, he was certain. "Are you asleep?"

"My lady?" he blinked. "Forgive me, but I am not dressed to receive visitors."

"I'm not here as a visitor, Cas," she said softly, closing and locking the door behind her. For a moment, he regretted allowing her to have a key.

"You're in pain, Cas," she said. "I'm here as a healer."

"I am fine, my lady," he insisted, though his will wavered. He remembered that night, after he had wrestled Bishop, and the blissful relief her touch brought him then. But could she really offer him that, after Bishop had so abused her kindness?

"I know," she said. "You probably feel only a little worse than you do most of the time, but I'd still like to ease your pain, if I can."

"My lady... I would not impose," he said. "I remember your ordeal..."

"Don't, Cas," she interrupted him, crossing the room to sit beside him on the bed. "I'm not here to offer you that. I just want you to have one good night's sleep, and wake feeling better, tomorrow."

"My lady," he felt his panic rise a fraction, "I am naked, beneath the linen."

"And I'm naked beneath my clothing," she said. "It's just skin, Cas. We all have it."

She had a point, perhaps. He had certainly not troubled himself over removing her clothing, when she had been injured by the sword spiders. His need was far less urgent, but should he thwart her kindness over too much modesty?

"What would you do?" he asked.

"First, I'd like a look at your legs," she said. "I'm not going to peek at anything you don't want me to see, but I'm worried about your knees, and I can't see them through the linen. I think you might have knocked your back out, sleeping on the rocks in the damp, so I'd like to see if I can get it to line up again. After that, I'd like to finish up with a nice, relaxing massage. And then, I'll leave you to sleep until morning."

"I would be grateful," he admitted. Now that she explained her intentions, he felt the fool for refusing her.

"All right, then," she said softly. "On your back, and please pull the linen up enough so I can see your knees... and you might want to tuck it in, a little, in between, in case the linen shifts when I move your legs."

He complied with her request.

He touch was gentle, certainly, and blessedly cool. She probed each knee gently with her fingertips before moving each leg through its range of motion. He expected her to look at his legs, but she looked at his face. Perhaps she looked to see when he flinched.

"Not as much flexibility as I would like," she said. "I don't suppose I could get you to stop kneeling entirely, but if you'd cut down, a bit, your knees will thank you for it."

"I'm obligated to kneel," he protested.

"Tyr can still hear you if you're standing," she said. "It isn't like you're going to get a new pair of knees for good behavior. I wish I'd thought to ask Brother Merring to have a look at you. He's the expert on bad knees. Still, there's a temple of Lathander here in Neverwinter. When Blacklake is open again, I'd like to take you there. It isn't that the temple of Tyr isn't any good for you, but Lathander favors athletics, and his priests are no strangers to injuries like yours. You've been abusing your joints far too long to fix you up with a quick healing spell. Your tendons are scarred, and that can't be reversed by magic. It can be helped by exercise, though, so maybe the priests there will have something to recommend."

"I trust your judgment in this," Casavir said. Her voice was always soothing, but the practical way she spoke of his body erased the last of his reservations. He resolved to obey any further requests she might make of him, and follow any advice she offered.

"Thank you," she smiled. "Now, I'd like you to lie on your side. It doesn't matter which, since we'll do the other afterward. I'm going to move your arms and legs again, and twist your torso to release the pressure on your spine."

He obeyed, and was rewarded with sharp, fleeting pain and a series of loud pops as his vertebrae snapped back into place. When she was done, he still ached, but it was more the healthy ache of a healing wound than the sharp, lancing pain he felt before.

"I feel like a new man," he smiled at her.

"We aren't done yet," she chuckled. "Now, I want you to lie on your belly again, with your feet about shoulder-width apart... well, my shoulder-width, not yours. You can fold your arms, but I'd like you to rest your forehead on them, with your neck straight. I don't want you to turn your head to one side. I'm going to talk you through a couple breaths, and then, I'm going to press on either side of your spine, to relax your shoulders and chest."

Again, he obeyed. She straddled him, which unnerved him, but she seemed to know what she was doing. She placed the heels of her hands along his spine, and instructed him to breathe deeply and let it out completely. About every third exhale, she leaned into his back, allowing her full weight to rest on it. It hurt, but he could hear as well as feel his back snapping into place, and when she was done, his shoulder hurt a great deal less.

"All right, Cas," she said, "we're just about done, here. Just make yourself as comfortable as you can, and I'll work out the knots."

He expected her to oil her hands, but she did not. Instead, he felt something cool and soft lubricating his skin.

"Powderd talc," she said. "It's almost as slippery as oil, and a good deal more comfortable in the heat."

"Indeed," he agreed, and closed his eyes to enjoy the massage. As he had after his bout with Bishop, he found himself drifting, only coming back to reality when she found another knotted muscle that needed pressure to relax. Before long, however, there were no more of those, and she just stroked his back.

The massage lasted far longer than necessary, he had to admit, but he could not bring himself to end it. He delighted in the feel of her hands against his skin. It was as if he floated in another world, where nothing existed but her touch and the space between their bodies. He felt sleep stealing over him, but he resisted. He did not want to lose the intimacy of the moment to unconsciousness. Still, it was a battle he had no energy to fight, and he felt himself beginning to surrender.

An image formed in his mind, of himself holding her in sleep. He wanted it.

"Stay," he breathed.

She smiled, perhaps, but it was a sad smile. She did not fear him, but perhaps she did not wish it.

"Unless..." he could not finish the thought.

"No," she said, "it's all right. Let me just put another sheet over us."

He felt her settle beside him, atop the sheet that covered him, and drape another over them both. Groggily, he shifted so that he lay on his side again, and threw an arm over her. He drew her into his embrace, closed his eyes, and knew nothing more for the rest of the night.

Casavir roused at the feeling of motion near him. She lay beside him still, wrapped tight in his embrace, but she stirred.

"I have to get up, Cas," she said softly.

"No," he mumbled.

"It's almost dawn," she whispered. "I have to greet the morning."

"Come back," he breathed, then sank back into sleep.

When next he woke, he felt... peaceful. Golden sunlight filled his room, and a cool breeze tickled his face. He lay with his eyes closed, for a moment, savoring the stillness of the morning. Hope for the new day filled him. He was happy... but he was not alone.

He lay on his back, with something warm and soft pressed against his side. A woman's cheek nestled in the hollow of his shoulder, and sunlit copper hair spilled across his chest. Her arm lay across him, and he embraced her. The Lady had spent the night in his bed.

He blinked and looked at her again, wondering if sleep still clouded his senses, but no, she was there when he opened his eyes again. She slept. He could not see her face, but he felt her slow, regular breathing against the bare skin of his chest.

He was naked. He lifted the sheet that covered her, praying that she was not. She was dressed, but only barely. She wore the singlet that she had worn last night, though she appeared to have removed her leggings. One bare leg was wedged between his. Had he... lain with her? Calm as he had been when he woke, he could not be certain that he had not.

He slid his hand down her back until he felt the top of her smalls, then sighed in relief. She might have removed her leggings, but he had not forced her to disrobe completely. He might not have taken her, after all.

He dreaded waking her, but he must. His bladder reminded him that he needed to rise, but he could not do so until she left. She might have asserted that skin was skin, and assured him that everyone had it, but his nudity provided no concealment for his early-morning condition. No, he must get out of bed to relieve himself, and she must be out of the room when he did it.

He brushed her hair out of her face, and stroked her cheek. He might not have any idea what she was doing in his bed, but she had been kind to him beyond measure, the night before, and he did not want to wake her harshly, despite his desire that she should leave as soon as possible. She stirred.

"Good morning, Cas," she smiled at him. "Did you sleep well?"

"Like the dead," he heard himself answer. "My lady... why are you in my bed?"

"You asked me to stay," she replied, tightening her arm around his chest. "Were you so groggy that you don't remember?"

"So it would seem," he sighed. "Did I..."

"No," she smiled at his unasked question. "You lay there and kept your hands to yourself the whole night... although you did insist I come back to you after I finished with my prayers."

"Forgive me, my lady," he groaned. "I am really not myself when I am half-asleep."

"I know," she said softly. "But don't worry. You're even gentler than you are when you're awake."

_She would not think me so gentle if she moved her thigh up a hand's breadth,_ he thought.

"I am still taking something from you," he sighed.

"What?" she asked, pulling away so she could look him in the face.

"I know you are here at my urging," he said, "but you should not be. You give me something that should belong, by rights, only to a husband or lover."

"We aren't lying together... well, we are, but not in the way that lovers do. It hurts no one, Cas, and I never sleep better alone than I do by your side."

"That is why it is wrong," he said.

"You're confusing me, Cas," she said softly, laying her head back down on his chest. "Why do you ask me to stay, if you don't want me to lie with you?"

"I am weak," he groaned.

"You're human," she smiled at him. At the moment, however, his bladder was once more reminding him of his humanity.

"My lady," he said with some urgency, "I do not want you to think me ungrateful, but..."

"I know," she said, "I must go."

"Forgive me if I do not see you to the door," he forced himself to smile. She giggled.

The narrow bed Duncan had given him had a high headboard and foot board, and was pushed against the wall, so she was obliged to climb over him to get out of it. She became tangled in the linens and fell across him. Reflexively, he reached for her to steady her, but he wished he had not, as he now held her against his body. She pushed away from him, disentangling her legs, but he could not avert his eyes before he looked down the open neck of her singlet.

He swallowed uncomfortably, but she just laughed.

"Sorry about that, Cas," she said. "Got tangled. See you downstairs when you're dressed?"

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. She had shapely legs, he thought, slender, but long and muscular. He must not allow himself to think about that... but it was already too late. The glance at her bare cleavage ensured that it would be some time before he was calm enough to empty his bladder.

He watched her cross to the door, unlock it, and open it. Duncan stood framed in the doorway, his knuckles poised as if he were about to knock.

Duncan recovered first.

"Well!" he said. "I was just about to ask Cas if he'd seen you, but I guess that answers that."

"Er... yes," The Lady stammered, "I just came in to... er... check on him. Camping out in the rain the night before last, I wondered if he'd caught a cold."

Casavir could see her uncle's grin.

"Good idea," the half-elf laughed. "A paladin catches cold, and it's hells getting rid of it."

Casavir groaned and covered his face with his hands. Belatedly, he thought to raise his knees. The Lady might be too innocent to notice the lay of the linens, but Duncan was not.

"Sorry to disturb you, lass," Duncan said, "but you're needed downstairs. There's a man here to see you. He says his name is Sir Nevalle, and his tunic says he's one of the Neverwinter Nine. From the look on his face, I wouldn't waste any time, if I were you, but you might want to put on a bit more clothes."

Sir Nevalle... here, and asking for The Lady. It boded ill.

As soon as she was gone, he did what he had to do and threw on a tunic, not bothering to put on leggings or even smalls. Sir Nevalle was Lord Nasher's right hand, and his own worst adversary, here in Neverwinter, and if he wanted to talk to The Lady, Casavir was certain that he needed to hear what the man had to say.

He emerged from his room at the same moment as The Lady left hers. She had changed into her green gown.

"Do you know him?" she asked.

"Yes," Casavir admitted heavily. "He wants me dead."


	42. The Chill

_Disclaimer: All characters on loan from Obsidian, except one confused cleric._

* * *

The man was driving her mad, Kayla seethed. Conflicting messages did not even begin to describe it.

All right, sleeping with Casavir, in the sense of sharing a bed with him, was delightful, but to hear him reproach her for it the next morning... Infuriating. And then, when it could not possibly get any worse, who should walk in but Duncan. Why had she been unable to think of a more plausible lie? Duncan knew perfectly well that paladins were never ill. She might have even told him the truth. She was a cleric, after all, and Cas did not take care of himself as well as he might. If he needed a little extra attention to stay in fighting form, Duncan could hardly blame her for that. Besides, her uncle had asked her if she and Casavir were sharing a room. He had probably not expected to answer in the affirmative, but there was amusement in his voice, not reproof.

But back to Casavir, was he ever going to stop being so confusing? She had seldom met a man who required so much attention, and claiming he wanted none, all the while. He needed more self-confidence. If he believed in himself, he would not need others to build him up... she hoped. It was hard to say, with Casavir. She had blamed his fragile emotional state on everything from suicidal thoughts to a lack of confidence, but this newest guess was just that, a guess. Casavir needed something, but she did not know what.

_He needs a swift kick in the ass,_ her "inner Khelgar" supplied. She sighed.

She did not have time for speculation like this. Sir Nevalle, one of the Neverwinter Nine, was waiting for her in the common room. She could not very well go greet him in her smalls.

She pulled her spring green gown out of her clothing chest and tugged it over her head. It was her favorite, but more importantly, it did not have to be laced. She rooted around under the bed for her town shoes. Her boots were handy, but they looked ridiculous with the gown. Her hair was disheveled, but there was little she could do about that, now. Her hair tended to be wild, at the best of times. It was fine, but she had a lot of it, and it took on a life of its own, if she did not braid it before she went to bed, especially as clean as it was this morning. Casavir's request had kept her from her evening toilette, so she would have to face Sir Nevalle looking like she got caught out in a windstorm.

Cas was waiting for her in the hall. He had troubled himself less than she had, apparently. He was barefoot and bare-legged, and his short black hair stuck out in every direction.

"Do you know him?" she asked Casavir.

"Yes," Casavir answered, his face bleak. "He wants me dead."

Kayla felt her jaw drop.

She opened the door to her room, grabbed Casavir by the front of the tunic, and thrust him through the open doorway, propelling him toward the table.

"Sit down," she ordered.

"My lady," he protested, "we do not have time for conversation."

"We do if I say we do," Kayla snapped. "If you think I'm going down there... letting you go down there... to talk to a man who wants to kill you, you can think again."

"I am uncertain that he would slay me outright," Casavir said calmly.

"Sit down and start talking," she said, undeterred. "Uncle Duncan will keep him supplied with ale and excuses until we get there. So, he wants you dead, but you don't think he'll kill you himself. What has he got against you?"

"Sir Nevalle is first among the Neverwinter Nine," Casavir explained. "I betrayed Neverwinter. He will want justice."

"Were you ever tried for this crime?" Kayla asked.

"No, my lady," he said. "I broke no law, yet I abandoned Neverwinter, nonetheless."

"So you just left?" Kayla suspected that perhaps he exaggerated his danger. He had been mistaken about Callum, too.

"Yes," he answered.

"So, I'm guessing he never said anything like 'Casavir, I will sing joyful songs over your dead, mutilated body and dance on your grave?'"

"No," he frowned, obviously aware that she was not taking him seriously. "My lady, the man is one of the Neverwinter Nine."

"He never threatened your life directly, nor did he say he would be glad to see you dead," Kayla summarized. "Has he any other reason to hate you?"

"It is personal," Casavir muttered.

"Would you use your position to pursue a personal vendetta?" she asked him.

"Of course not," he said firmly.

"Then neither will Sir Nevalle," she said. "Uncle Duncan said that his tunic identified him, so he is obviously here in an official capacity. He will not be here over something personal. As for whatever crimes you committed against Neverwinter, that was long ago. Callum would have brought word of your return immediately after Old Owl Well, so your presence in Neverwinter would be known. They had three months or more to come after you, but they chose now, when we're but a day back from West Harbor? No, Casavir, Sir Nevalle has not come for you. He may dislike you. He might even privately wish you misfortune, but he is not here to exact revenge."

Casavir hung his head.

"Cas," Kayla said softly, taking his hand, "I swore I would protect you, and I will. When I made you that promise, I thought I would have to shield you from Neverwinter political grudges, but I begin to realize that your most deadly foe is yourself."

She kissed his hand, then pressed it between her own, against her heart.

"You fear shadows, dear one," she said gently. "Let it go. Forget the past."

"I killed a man," he said flatly. He took his hand from between hers and turned away from her. "He was wounded. I might have subdued him, let him live. I did not."

"A wise man once told me that our gods alone judge us," Kayla said to his retreating back. He froze, though he did not face her. "'Do not shoulder that burden yourself,' he said, 'nor seek to weigh the guilt or innocence of those you are forced to slay. No man may know the will of the gods in all things.'"

He turned his head, so that she saw his face in profile. His expression was bleak.

"The man was a fool," said _Katalmach. _

He walked away. Kayla watched him go. How was she supposed to help him if he did not want to be helped?

She sank into the chair Casavir refused to take and stared at the decanter on the table. If ever there was a man capable of driving a woman to a drink... but no, it was only midmorning, still too early for strong wine. Idly, she wondered if "tempt the cleric" was a popular game among Neverwinter's paladins. He put her through the whole spectrum of her emotions, from longing to despair. He made her crave him, even while driving her away. With patience enough, Brother Merring had said, he might one day be hers, but why did she want him? Could there be any payoff worth the frustration she had endured? She had known the ecstasy of lying with a man. Not even that exquisite shudder was worth this aggravation. So what, then, did she want from him? Love?

If what she had heard of the emotion was true, the love of a good man might be worth the pain he put her through, and more, but right now, she did not even like him. She was investing much of herself in this, more, perhaps, than she could even give, and for what? The chance to feel emotionally drained? The opportunity to rage at the emptiness of the night? With hundreds of unattached men in Neverwinter, she had somehow managed to find the one least capable of giving her what she needed... though she could not even say with any certainty what that was.

That was her problem. She was wagering without knowing the stakes, let alone the odds. Until she learned what she stood to gain, and what she stood to lose, she had no business placing her marker on the table. She needed time to think, and solitude to do so without distraction. How could she manage that? One glance at his sad, lonely eyes, and she was lost. She needed to get away from him, if only for one night, if she were to have any hope of finding the answers to her questions.

Perhaps Uncle Duncan would understand, if she slept somewhere else tonight. Khelgar and Neeshka, certainly, and probably Shandra, would be sympathetic. They would explain her absence to the rest... as if any explanation would penetrate Casavir's thick skull.

Casavir. He had gone down to face Sir Nevalle, in all likelihood. She had assured him that he was in no danger, but what if she were wrong? Had she sent him to his death? And here she sat, asking questions of a wine bottle. She jumped to her feet and ran after him.

* * *

Casavir saw Nevalle, standing by the door beside Duncan, Sand, Cormick and half a dozen nervous-looking Watchmen. Nevalle had not changed. He sill looked like he spent half the morning in front of the mirror, he still looked like he lacquered his blond hair, and he still wore the same unctuous half-smile, as if the plebian afflictions of his fellow man were beneath his notice. Casavir had little doubt that he was still Lord Nasher's lapdog. Sand looked his usual unruffled self. The Harborman's face was unreadable.

He hesitated. He might still escape, take the servant's entrance out into the courtyard and freedom, but no, he would run no longer. If this was to be the hour of his death, he would face it like a man. Was that not what he wanted? No, he wanted his life to mean something, but for all his striving, he had done nothing to deserve a martyr's glory. Still, he would not die a coward, fleeing from the justice he loved.

Mustering whatever dignity he could find in a tattered tunic and unruly hair, he steeled himself, and walked forward to meet his fate.

"I am Casavir of Tyr," he said. "I will offer no resistance."

"I know who you are," Nevalle greeted him coldly. "I had not heard that you were involved in this, but that is of no matter. If you know where Kayla of Lathander can be found, would you please bring her here? Lord Nasher expects my report sometime this morning, and I have been kept waiting long enough."

"I am the one you seek," Casavir said, baffled. "She need have no part in this."

Nevalle blinked at him.

"Have you gone deaf?" Nevalle countered. "I am not here for you, unless you are more skilled at disguise than my sources would indicate. I was sent for one Dawnbringer Kayla, cleric, described as 'tall, for a woman, and slight of frame, with red hair and brown eyes.' Unless you'd care to tell me how that description could possibly apply to you, or how a pathologically deluded paladin fits into all this, you're free to go. I would suggest you do so soon, as my patience grows thin."

"What do you want with her?" Casavir demanded.

"That is no concern of yours," Sir Nevalle said flatly.

"Excuse me, Sir," Cormick interjected. "He's her... friend. Perhaps if you were to state your case, Casavir might be induced to help you find her."

Nevalle nodded.

"Very well," he agreed with apparent reluctance. "I am here at Lord Nasher's request, to ask her a few questions in connection with the village of Ember and to offer her the benefit of counsel."

Nevalle paused.

"I am not here to harm her," he added, "nor do I seek to take her into custody, at this time."

"He means it, Cas," Cormick said calmly. "The boys and I just tagged along to show our support."

"And you?" Casavir asked Sand.

"I would be the counsel," Sand said tersely.

"I see," Casavir said. "She is in her room. I will bring her."

"I'm here, Cas."

"I am Sir Nevalle, knight of Neverwinter, and spokesman of the Neverwinter Nine," Nevalle informed her pompously. "I am here at Lord Nasher's request to advise you of a situation that has developed across our northern border and to ask you a few questions pertaining to the village of Ember."

"Ember?" The Lady asked. "Village just over the Luskan border? We were there a few months ago."

"You have not been there more recently than that?" Nevalle asked. "Reports of a grisly nature place you there less than a tenday ago."

"No," she replied. "We just got back from West Harbor. We spent Midsummer there."

"Is there no one in Neverwinter who can vouch for your presence there?" Nevalle asked.

"I can," Casavir said.

"Anyone at all?" Nevalle ignored him.

"Apart from Cas and the rest of my companions, no," The Lady replied. "What happened?"

"The village of Ember was burned to the ground," Nevalle said bleakly, "and all its inhabitants slaughtered, save one. The survivor identified you as the murderer."

"Impossible!" Casavir said, even as The Lady cried "No!"

"Be still," Nevalle ordered. "I do not believe the allegations myself, but more importantly, neither does Lord Nasher. Your service to the city of Neverwinter has been exemplary, as the marshal and his men are here to attest, and reports from Highcliff and Fort Locke corroborate this opinion. While no one here or in Castle Nevar believe you capable of this massacre, you will still be tried for it. As Ember falls under the jurisdiction of Luskan, you will be tried in Luskan, under the terms of our treaty. I need not tell you that the Luskans are unlikely to view service to Neverwinter as evidence of innocence, with the recent wars so fresh in the minds of the people. In Luskan, you would most certainly be found guilty and hanged."

Casavir threw his arms around her. They would not take her from him, not now, not ever.

"Not while I breathe," he said grimly.

"Easy, Cas," Cormick said, smiling. Was the Harborman laughing at him? At a time like this? "Let him finish."

Casavir allowed himself to relax a little.

The Lady stepped away from him abruptly, leaving the circle of his arms, pushing him away. He had forgotten that he still held her, but now that he no longer did, the void left by her absence was nearly uncomfortable enough to make him follow her and embrace her again. He resisted. Her shock at Nevalle's news was a palpable thing.

"There is another option," Nevalle rolled his eyes at Casavir's gesture. "The treaty specifies that any persons accused of committing crimes on Luskan soil be tried in Luskan unless they are Neverwinter nobility. Lord Nasher's wisdom is legendary, as you are no doubt aware. Realizing that Neverwinter nobility would never receive fair treatment in Luskan, he insisted that any baron, lord, knight, or squire accused of a crime be tried in Neverwinter, regardless of where the alleged crime occurred. Cunning and prudent, don't you agree?"

Cormick cleared his throat. Casavir could see him grinning and rolling his eyes behind Nevalle's back. Were The Lady's life not at stake, Casavir would have been amused by the marshal's jest at Nevalle's expense.

"Ahem." Nevalle cleared his own throat. "As I was saying, squires are exempt from extradition. Were Kayla a squire, she might be tried in Neverwinter, where she would receive a fair trial. Evidence would still need to be presented, of course, and the case would still need to be sound, but I am certain that given time and good counsel, a solid case for Kayla's innocence might be assembled."

"I'm not a squire, Sir Nevalle," The Lady said.

"The arraignment is set for tomorrow morning," Nevalle said. "Perhaps you might encounter a knight in need of a squire between now and then. Officially, such an arrangement would have to be entered freely by both parties, and without collusion, of course, but a resourceful, upstanding woman such as yourself would likely have no difficulty convincing said knight of your suitability for the role. Also, I would like to point out that Sand has graciously offered to provide you with some free advice -"

"Not that I mind, of course," Sand interjected, "but I believe Lord Nasher was rather firm on the subject..."

"Now, if you will excuse me," Nevalle went on, "I have several important matters to attend to on Lord Nasher's behalf."

With that, the boot-licker left.

"Now all I need is a knight who wants a squire by tomorrow," she sighed. "Are you a knight, Cas?"

"No, my lady," he groaned, feeling wretched. Knights might achieve their rank through outstanding acts of valor, but often enough, they were simply politically savvy enough to make friends in the right circles. Casavir had fought bravely in the wars, but so had many others. He preferred a simple life, free from political machinations. He sought obscurity, and he had found it. At the time, he had prided himself on upholding the purity of his calling, but now that a woman's life was at stake... that The Lady's life was at stake... he began to see that too much humility was as much a vice as too little.

"As it happens, that's what I'm here to talk to you about," Cormick grinned. "Brelaina's got this knight in her office that won't go away. She says he's looking for a squire. Paladins can be pretty persistent, so I'm guessing she'd like somebody to go talk to him before he gets too comfortable."

"What an amazing coincidence!" The Lady laughed. "Now all we need is a case."

"Providence smiles on you, it would seem," Sand said dryly. "I'm suddenly reminded how much I long for the feel of wind in my hair and the rustic comfort of sleeping under the stars... Oh, forget this charade. Apart from my own interest in clearing the name of an innocent woman, it would do my heart good to see Luskan lose this round. I place my considerable talents at your disposal. I've a bit of experience with the courts."

"Really?" The Lady smiled in relief. "Oh, Sand! That's wonderful news! Thank you for helping me."

"Don't thank me yet," Sand replied, though he sounded flattered. "We have still have the small matter of a case to build, and you should go get yourself squired, though I might suggest more military attire for the occasion."

"Thank you, Sand," Duncan said. The half-elf had been silent throughout, and appeared to be shaking off his shock only now. "It means a lot that you'd put yourself out for my kin."

"My motives are not altogether altruistic," Sand admitted. "I have my own reasons for wanting to see Luskan humbled. But still, it's nice to know I'm appreciated."

"By some, maybe," Qara snorted. Casavir turned to face the sorceress. He had neither heard nor seen her approach. He turned away. It was too soon to forget her part in the confrontation of yesterday afternoon.

Sand just sighed and rolled his eyes.

"You say the knight has been waiting in Brelaina's office?" The Lady asked. "I don't want to keep him waiting long, but I don't want to go with my hair looking like this... and I suppose you're right, Sand. I should put on my armor. Has anybody seen Shandra? She probably won't appreciate being left behind."

"She's out working on the pell," Duncan said. "Woke up bright and early. She's been at it for a while, now. I'll go get her while you're getting dressed."

"My lady... " Casavir began.

She sighed, sounding irritated. Casavir hung his head. Clearly, he had done something wrong, if she was vexed with him.

"My lady?" he repeated. "Shall... shall I accompany you?"

"The Watch is a public building," she said. "You can go wherever you want... I'm sorry, Cas. It's been a difficult morning... and we need to talk."

"We might talk as we walk," he suggested, unsuccessfully trying to keep his voice steady. Something was very wrong, and it was not the news Lord Nasher's pet brought. It must be him.

_You detain her against her will, cling to her all night while wearing naught but a linen sheet, and when her morning devotions finally allow her the opportunity to escape your lascivious clutches, you force her to return, and you wonder what you could possibly have done to earn her mistrust?_ His conscience shook his head at his obtuseness. No wonder she pushed him away, just now.

"No, Cas," she said wearily. "We'll talk tomorrow, after I've had a chance to think."

Casavir nodded his reluctant acceptance and went back to his room to make himself presentable.

He was forced to saturate his hair to get it to lie flat, and he could only find one of his good boots. He shaved, but his haste made him clumsy, and he sliced his cheek with his own razor. Soap burned in the cut. It was shallow, but it stung.

He stared at his reflection. Blood welled up through the soap, turning it crimson. At the corner of the wound, where the flow was the heaviest, it dripped through the foam, carrying it away. Blood and lust, soap and purity, he hardly knew his own face, anymore. He hardly knew himself, anymore.

Who was he? Was he the paladin, calm and detached, who carried out his duty secure in his faith that he did the right thing? Or was he the madman who lay awake, longing for something that would surely destroy him? In his heart, he knew it was a choice. Both men were part of him. Every day, he chose to be the paladin, and keep the madman locked away where he could hurt no one. He must. When he met his god at last, he wanted to be able to say that he had lived his life as a faithful servant of Tyr, and had kept his own honor, and his god's, to the end. He had failed in that several times already, once catastrophically. He had been forgiven for those sins, but true repentance required that he change his ways. He must subdue the animal that lived within him. He must not fail again.

His hands shook. The battle he fought was an internal one, but it sapped his strength, nonetheless. His face was only half-shaved, but he must steady his nerves before he finished. He set the razor on the washstand.

"You've cut yourself," he heard a soft, gentle voice behind him. Looking into the mirror, he saw The Lady regarding his reflection in the tin. She took his towel from the washstand and blotted away the blood. "Are you all right?"

"It is but a scratch," he dismissed it.

"Yes, I can see that," she replied calmly. "It's only that you aren't usually this careless."

"You have been charged with murder," he offered by way of explanation. It was a lie, in the sense that it was not the reason for his agitation, but it was true, in the factual sense.

"I have every confidence in Sand," she said. "You, on the other hand worry me. You left the door open."

"It is of no matter," he replied, picking up the razor and looking meaningfully at the door.

"Are you in the habit of getting dressed with the door open?" She took the razor from his unresisting fingers.

"I... no, my lady," he said. "I am distracted, perhaps. I should like to finish shaving, my lady. I shall be but a moment, if you would be kind enough to close the door behind you on your way out."

"You'll cut off your nose, shaking as you are," she smiled. "Sit down. I'll do it for you."

"My lady, no," he protested, though he allowed himself to be guided into his chair. "I am well, I assure you."

"Don't talk, Cas," she said. "It will go quicker if you aren't moving your mouth."

"Have you ever done this before?" he heard himself ask.

"No," she said, "but I have watched you do it often enough, when we're camping. Hush, now."

He placed his trembling hands on his knees and and raised his chin. She knelt on the floor in front of him. He felt the cool metal of the razor against his cheek, and the touch of her fingers on his jaw, as she pulled the skin taut. He held his breath for the first couple passes of the razor, expecting to feel the pinch and burn of the razor cutting his skin, but it never came. She moved slowly, carefully, sliding the blade over his face.

He looked at her. Her eyebrows were blond, he saw, and fine, like her eyelashes. Her eyes looked darker, today, though perhaps that was a trick of the light. He lost several moments trying to find their pupils.

She cleared her throat. He felt himself redden. He had been staring. He looked at her lips. They were full, perhaps, fuller than his, anyway, and looked soft. He had kissed those lips. Something feral stirred within him, making him want to do so again, but he fought it back into its cage. A man with a razor on his throat should not think of such things.

He shifted his edge of the bed that he could see over her shoulder. It was not safe, looking at her, but neither was it safe, looking at the bed. She had shared it with him. He had woken with her hair across his chest, and her cheek against his shoulder.

He looked at the ceiling. Surely, even he could find nothing erotic about a ceiling.

"I'm going as fast as I can," she said. She must have interpreted his actions as impatience. He did not bother to correct her. The intimacy of the act she performed on him was beginning to unsettle him. His own memories did nothing to counteract that. He wanted it to end.

At last, it was over. She blotted his face with the towel, and studied the results.

"Not too bad, though I say it myself," she said. "One last test, though."

With no warning, she leaned forward and pressed her cheek to his. He nearly upset the chair, he flinched so violently.

"Sorry, Cas," she said, "but it's the only way I've got to tell if I got a close shave."

"You did, my lady," he said hastily.

"Come on, then," she said. "You've no time to armor up, so you'll have to go in tunic and leggings."

"Stay but a moment," he heard himself say. "I have something that belongs to you. It was delivered to my room by mistake."

He opened his clothing chest and took out his father's dagger. She took it, but her face showed bafflement, not recognition.

"I don't own a dagger, Cas," she said. "And this is yours, isn't it? I remember it from when you were teaching me to fight with them."

"It was mine," he admitted. "I sold it before we left Neverwinter last. When we returned yesterday, I found it on my bed. I thought Sand had made some error, so I went to ask him about it after breakfast. He said a woman bought it and asked that it be delivered to the Sunken Flagon. He was reluctant to reveal your identity, but when I pressed him, he admitted that it was a lady I knew. If you have purchased it, it is yours."

"I didn't buy it," she said. "In the three months that we were in Neverwinter, I was only in Sand's shop the once, the day after we arrived. Could it have been Shandra? She would have seen that dagger on you before."

"She was training with Khelgar, that morning," he said.

"El or Neesh, then," she said, handing the knife back. "Cas, we don't have time for this."

"Forgive me," my lady. He picked up the dagger and looked at it, then thrust it into the top of his boot. It might by rights belong to another, but he was glad to have it back. But who had bought it? Who would have reason to buy it? And having bought it, who would return it to him? They sold gear all the time. Even if one of them observed him selling it, she would have no reason to think he would want it back, unless...

Unless she had heard him recite the history of the weapon. Elanee was compassionate. She might have no filial obligations herself, but she might understand his... but no. She understood what was natural. Beasts do not trouble themselves over their sires, once they are grown. Elanee would not understand Casavir's feelings toward his own. Qara was out of the question. She would not have taken the trouble, or paid the price. Neeshka, then... of the three, she would have been the last he suspected of altruism, but there was no other explanation. Only Neeshka could have entered the shop unseen, and only Neeshka would have been able to remain hidden while the transaction took place. Yet the tiefling was a rogue. Could she have done something so unselfish, just for him? It must be true. No one else had the means.

A lump rose in his throat. He had always thought tieflings damned for their ancestry, but it must be wrong. For her to know the pain he felt in giving it up, she must be more compassionate than he imagined.

"Neeshka," he breathed.

"There's no time to wake her, Cas," The Lady said. "And I don't think she'd be too comfortable around knights, anyway."

"No, my lady," he said. "Neeshka bought me my dagger back."

"I'm glad, Cas," she said. "But we really do have to leave. Come on, or I'll have to go without you."

"Very well," he said, offering his arm. She looked at it, but refused it.

"I need time to think," she said, walking toward the stair. He trotted after her.

Shandra was waiting in the common room, with Khelgar and Sand.

"Let's get it over with," Khelgar rumbled.


	43. Two Paladins

_Disclaimer: Obsidian owns everybody but Kayla. Taking some liberties with Sir Grayson here. He's probably less gregarious in the OC, but he's likeable, nonetheless._

* * *

Captain Brelaina greeted Kayla somewhat distantly.

"Cormick said you are playing host to a knight in search of a squire?" Kayla asked.

"Yes," the older woman replied. "And I'll be glad to be rid of him. He's worse than your friend... ahem... I did not see you there, Casavir, is it?... anyway, he's making the men nervous, sitting there, minding his own business. Who does that, in a Watch canteen?"

Kayla smiled grimly.

"But there was something else," Captain Brelaina said heavily. "Regardless of the veracity of the allegations against you, or the lack of veracity, you stand accused of capital offenses. I'm going to have to ask you to surrender your cloak. You're suspended until the trial is resolved. I'm sorry."

Kayla sighed.

"I should have expected that," she said. "The new Watch building? Will it be finished?"

"There is very little left to do," Captain Brelaina informed her. "The instructions you left should see the building through to completion, Cormick tells me. He was quite distressed to learn of your suspension, if it makes you feel any better."

"Thank you," Kayla said. "I'll go see your visitor, if I may."

"I'll have to bring him here," Captain Brelaina said uncomfortably. "Only active members of the Watch are permitted past this office."

"I understand," Kayla rolled her eyes. The harridan could ignore graft and corruption in her ranks, but she would not let her talk to a paladin? Some people had the strangest priorities.

Kayla tried to make herself comfortable while she waited, but she was intrigued by Brelaina's visitor. Casavir was the only paladin she had ever met. She wondered how alike they would be.

At first glance, they were similar, in a way. The man was a little shorter than Casavir, and a good deal bulkier, but he, too, had a sense of otherworldliness about him, and he, too, was handsome, with short, dark hair and a carefully groomed appearance. The similarity ended there.

As soon as the stranger saw her, he sprang cheerfully toward her, extending his hand and smiling broadly.

"I am Grayson Corett," he introduced himself. "You could only be Kayla of Lathander. It's a pleasure to meet you, at last. I have heard much of your accomplishments in the Watch, and I understand that you have served both Neverwinter and the cause of right with unfailing devotion."

"You flatter me, Sir Grayson," she smiled, shaking his hand.

"I won't waste your time with a lot of nonsense," Sir Grayson grinned. "You need a little help, and I need a squire. Of course, I don't know that you need help officially, you understand. But I think we both stand to gain from an alliance, and I welcome the opportunity to help a deserving young woman achieve the recognition that she deserves."

"You're too kind," Kayla smiled at his breathless enthusiasm. Sir Grayson might be a couple years older than Casavir, but he exuded vitality and warmth. She decided she liked him.

"Nonsense!" Sir Grayson laughed. "This will be no ride in the park, I assure you. You won't need much in the way of training, I'm told. It's a pity, too, because that's my favorite part, but I'm sure you'll be just as happy to be excused from long mornings at the pell and tedious evenings polishing my armor, not to mention that odious bit about caring for my horse.

"You'll still need a little coaching about behaving appropriately among the stuffy, overly fastidious lot that is the chivalry," Sir Grayson rolled his eyes in mock horror at his own irreverence, "but I suppose enduring a few good dinners is a small price to pay for an education. And I can't let you skip your vigil. It's traditional that every new squire spend a night in solitary reflection in the Solace Glade, but I'll fill you in about that over dinner tonight. You will have responsibilities, of course. You'll have to serve Neverwinter, and pledge your service to myself and Lord Nasher. Can you live with those terms?"

"Gladly," Kayla accepted. "It would be an honor."

"Then I accept you as my squire," Sir Grayson grinned. "You should report to my residence in Blacklake this evening... it's open again, praise Tyr, I thought I'd die of boredom if I had to spend another tenday trapped up there... shall we say at the changing of the Watch? That will give me some time to introduce you to the rest of my household before we eat. Informal attire, tonight, squire. We'll be seeing you to Solace Glade afterward, so wear your armor and bring your weapons. Oh, and I nearly forgot. As a squire, you will be expected to acquit yourself well on horseback. Can you ride?"

"A little," Kayla admitted. "Casavir has taught me to ride a saddle horse, but I don't know how to fight on horseback."

"Casavir?" Sir Grayson blinked in surprise, turning this way and that to scan every corner of the room

"Hello, Gray," Casavir said gravely, stepping out from behind the shadow of a door.

"Cas," Sir Grayson gasped. "I thought... I thought I'd never see you again. Are you... well?"

"I am," Casavir replied, though his face was strangely still. "And you?"

"Very well indeed," Sir Grayson stammered. He took a step toward Casavir, then another. "Cas... it has been so long..."

"I am sorry, Gray," Casavir said. "I sent no word."

"I gave you no reason," Sir Grayson said. "I... I was angry... Cas, will you walk with me?"

"My lady?" Casavir asked her. "Will you excuse me?"

"Of course, Cas," she heard herself say.

"Forgive me, Kayla," Sir Grayson suddenly remembered her presence. "Casavir and I were classmates, though he was not in my year. We were..."

"We were friends," Casavir said firmly. Sir Grayson smiled.

"Go on, Cas," she said. "I'll wait for you back at the Flagon."

"Thank you," he said.

"I'll send a messenger for you this afternoon," Sir Grayson said. "Shall we go to the park, Cas?"

Casavir did not say anything, but he allowed his one-time friend to lead him out of the room. Kayla stared after them, more confused than ever. At least she could look forward to a vigil in Solace Glade to get her feelings sorted.

Nobody said anything to her on the walk back to the Flagon. A couple times, Khelgar looked like he wanted to say something, but he held his peace. Kayla was grateful. She did not know what to think. Something clearly existed between Casavir and Sir Grayson, but she was at a loss to explain it. Sir Grayson looked at him strangely, almost as if Casavir had hurt him, in the past, and neither of them had forgotten it.

"What took you so long?" Neeshka demanded when they got back.

"I'm a squire now," Kayla said. "Well, maybe not officially, but I will be tomorrow, after my vigil."

"Duncan told me what happened here, this morning," Neeshka said. "Sorry I missed it... er... you all right?"

"My knight is an old friend of Casavir's," Kayla said. She leaned closer to her friend. If anybody would appreciate her emotional state, it would be Neeshka.

"They've got some kind of a history," she whispered, "but I don't know what it is."

"Everybody has a past," Neeshka shrugged. "I'm surprised you didn't go follow them."

"How could I?" Kayla sighed. "It's private."

"Where did they go?" Neeshka asked.

"Sir Grayson asked Cas if he wanted to go to the park," Kayla supplied.

"Anybody can go for a walk in the park," Neeshka grinned. "So get going... and take this."

Neeshka put a silver ring on the table.

"What is it?" Kayla asked.

"A ring of invisibility," she whispered. "Nobody knows I've got it, so you have to promise you won't tell anyone."

"I can't eavesdrop, Neesh," Kayla said. "It would be wrong."

"Not as wrong as spending the next six nights wondering what they were talking about," Neeshka shrugged. "Besides, he's got no business keeping secrets from you, anyway."

"You'd think that, wouldn't you?" Kayla agreed, taking the ring off the table. Maybe just this once. He owed her more explanations than this, for the way he was leading her in circles. Maybe eavesdropping was not such a mortal sin.

They were easy enough to find. They were keeping to the paths, walking side by side, though they did not touch.

"I thought of you, sometimes," Casavir was saying, "during the war. You were with an infantry unit, and I feared for your safety."

"I was still safer than you were with the scouts," Sir Grayson dismissed it. "If I fell, somebody would be sure to notice, and get me patched up and back on my feet in no time, but you... no one would even know you were missing."

"I chose my posting," Casavir answered. "I needed the solitude."

"You shut us all out," Sir Grayson said. "When was the last time we went for a walk, you and I? It was before Sharilyn."

"I could not face you after the trial," Casavir sighed. "I was ashamed. You would not want to know a murderer, I thought."

"I would have forgiven you anything, Cas," Sir Grayson said sadly. "You know that."

"It did not seem that way, at the time," Casavir said. "Your words were rather biting, as I recall."

"I was angry," Sir Grayson said, "but when was I ever able to stay angry with you? I would never have thought a woman could come between us."

"That was none of my choosing," Casavir replied. "I still wanted your friendship."

"I know," Sir Grayson sighed. "And I pray that you'll forgive me for that. I didn't understand then what I understand now. I felt betrayed. I loved you, and you chose a woman over me."

"I am sorry. I should not have led you to believe there could be more than friendship between us."

"Oh, I understand that now," Kayla could hear the smile in Sir Grayson's voice. "I know that you are the way you are, and if you could not bring yourself to love another man the way I wanted you to love me, it was no fault of mine, but at the time, all I knew was that you rejected me."

"I tried to tell you," Casavir said gently.

"I know. At the time, I thought that if you just tried hard enough, you could make yourself feel the attraction. It took a failed marriage for me to understand that you could not."

"You married?" Casavir asked, turning to face Sir Grayson.

"Not me, no," Sir Grayson laughed, "I always knew what I wanted. It was Barret... Sir Barret, now. We found each other shortly after the wars, but he married a woman to appease his family. It did not end well. We're back together, now."

"Barret?" Casavir asked. "Big man, loud hair?"

"The same," Sir Grayson said fondly. "The hair is thinning, now, though."

"A good man," Casavir said approvingly. "I wish you every happiness."

"He shoved your head in a privy!" Sir Grayson laughed. Kayla's quickly stifled laughter almost gave her away.

"I was twelve," Casavir excused him, "and I richly deserved it. I had been following him around for over a tenday, even into the privies. I gave him no peace. Still, Barret was the first to stand up, at my trial, and swear that I was an honest man, and that the allegations against me must be false."

"Forgive me," Sir Grayson said. "That should have been my part."

"If you were angry with me, I knew why," Casavir said gently. "I never blamed you, Gray."

"You'll come, tonight, won't you, Cas?" Sir Grayson asked. "I'm sure Barret would be as happy as I am to see you well."

"I thank you, Gray, but I cannot," Casavir replied, though Kayla thought she heard sadness in his voice. "I should very much like the chance to renew our friendship, but I would be the only one present not of the chivalry."

"You're still a Master-at-Arms," Sir Grayson said. "That shows military achievement many knights never attain."

"Perhaps," Casavir said softly, "but squiring is a mystical thing, steeped in the traditions of eons. There is magic in what you do, and I would be loathe to tarnish it with my presence. For tonight, at least, she should know the estate she enters. She should spend the evening in communion with knights and with her fellow squires, and go to her vigil thinking of nothing but her new duties. As much as I long to see her face lit with that joy..."

"And here, I thought you preferred blonds," Sir Grayson laughed.

Casavir looked uncomfortable and turned away. Were Kayla not wearing the ring, he would have been looking right at her.

"I'm sorry, Cas," Sir Grayson apologized, sobering. "I know you well enough to know how much you respect the belt and spurs, but I think, perhaps, that you respect them a little too much. She'll still be human, even after this, and if she becomes a knight, in the fullness of time, she'll still be human then, too."

Casavir started walking again, but he did not speak.

"Don't make the same mistake I did," Sir Grayson said. "I hid my feelings from you until I was half mad with them. When I finally told you how I felt, I had poured so much of my soul into winning your love, your rejection nearly killed me. And I know how inappropriately I behaved. I don't blame you for refusing me. As I said, I know now why you did. Had I unburdened myself to you sooner, I would still have been disappointed, perhaps, but our friendship might never have suffered for it. When you needed me, after... well, afterward... I might have been there for you. It would have done us both good. I'm happy now with Barret, and deliriously so, but you and I lost years of our lives to silence when we might have been friends. And it need not end in tears, if you choose a woman who likes men."

"Should I ever find that I have feelings for a woman, I will be certain to heed your advice," Casavir said.

Sir Grayson sighed and shook his head.

"Have it your own way," he said, "but I will not be refused forever. You may make whatever sacrifices you want tonight, but Kayla's training is not done. You've been neglecting her horsemanship, she tells me. My shoulder's been bad these last few years, so I'm no good with the overhand shots, anymore, and Barret's knees are too far gone to even ride, these days, so you're going to have to stand in for me when I teach her mounted combat. I can yell from the sidelines with the best. And then, there's the fine art of behaving oneself at a state dinner she'll have to master. She can't very well attend any of those without an escort. I trust you haven't forgotten how to act in public?"

"Horsemanship and state dinners?" Casavir regarded Sir Grayson skeptically. "Are you out of your mind? She stands accused of murder, Gray!"

"After that," Sir Grayson brushed Casavir's objections aside. "She'll be found innocent -"

"You do not know that, Gray," Casavir said. "I know she is innocent, and I am certain you believe it, too, but we still must prove the case before an impartial jury."

"You're right, Cas," Sir Grayson relented. "I wish there was more I could do to help."

"You are doing all you can, my friend," Casavir sighed. "And I am grateful indeed."

"I was pleased to help her before," Sir Grayson said, "but I thought her lucky to have found the help. Now, I see that I am the fortunate one. I wronged you, Cas, when I left you to the vultures of the court. I know what they took from you -"

"They took nothing from me," Casavir protested. "I forfeited my honor the moment I challenged him."

"No, Cas," Sir Grayson said. "You acted in good faith, and the courts agreed. Yet in accusing you, they robbed you of your trust in your own judgment. Maybe, in some small way, I can help you by helping her. I owe you that."

Casavir looked like he wanted to say something to Sir Grayson, but he did not.

"Cas?" Sir Grayson said at last. "Did you ever wonder what would have happened if you never met Sharilyn?"

"Yes," Casavir admitted. "For years, not a day would go by that I did not ask myself that very question. Sometimes, I thought that I might have become the knight I dreamed of becoming, when we were boys. At other times, I thought that if I had not met Sharilyn, it would have been someone else, but the ending would have been the same. In the end, I realized that it did not matter. I met her, I fell in love, she betrayed me, I betrayed her, and then, well, you know the choices I made after that. I chose my life of my own free will. I no longer wonder 'what if.'"

"Have you never wondered about... us?"Sir Grayson asked.

"I... Gray, I cannot change who I am," Casavir said. "I could not then, nor can I now."

Sir Grayson sighed wistfully.

"I should be relieved," he admitted. "To hear you say it now, I must believe that you meant it, then, as well. It doesn't make it any easier."

Casavir smiled sadly.

"I am sorry," he said.

"Would you do something for me... as a friend?" Sir Grayson breathed.

"Name it," Casavir replied.

"Would you..." Sir Grayson stepped closer to Casavir. He reached out for him, cradling his uninjured cheek in his hand. Kayla held her breath as Sir Grayson brought his face very close to Casavir's, until their lips touched. The kiss was brief, and chaste, but they parted with smiles on both sides.

"Thank you," Sir Grayson said. "Now I can finally let you go."

Casavir nodded, and they began to walk again.

The conversation shifted to more mundane matters, then Kayla heard Casavir say that he should return to the Sunken Flagon. She swore and raced from the park. She needed to be home before Casavir got there.

"And?" Neeshka demanded once Kayla passed her back the ring.

"They're old friends, all right," Kayla explained. "They had a falling out over a woman, but they're over it now."

"Who got the girl?" Neeshka asked.

"Cas," Kayla giggled, "or maybe it would be more accurate to say that the girl got Cas."

"Oh," Neeshka said matter-of-factly. "Well, that will make Cas happy, if he doesn't have to worry about you and the knight. For somebody who won't even stake a claim, Cas sure can be jealous."

"Neesh, how many times do I have to tell you?" Kayla rolled her eyes. "There's nothing between Cas and I."

"Duncan told me he caught you together this morning," Neeshka said. "And I really thought he was going to strangle Cormick last night."

"Uncle Duncan talks too much," Kayla observed. "And why would he be telling you, anyway?"

"He wanted me to ask around about him," Neeshka explained. "I wouldn't, though. Some things, you have to take on faith. So, was that all they talked about?"

Kayla thought a moment. She should not have told Neeshka that much, really. Still, Casavir was a handsome man, and she'd seen strangers of both sexes accost him before. Sir Grayson's attraction to him was certainly understandable. She really could not tell Neeshka more about Casavir's former lover, though. She did not know much, there, besides the name, and from the guarded way they spoke, even between themselves, Kayla thought it might be too private to share, and it had obviously ended badly, or Casavir would be married.

Was that why he was so conflicted? Did the memory of a failed romance haunt him? Only Casavir could let one bad experience ruin him for the rest of his life. Still, he deserved his privacy. She should not have heard that, so she would pretend she had not.

"More or less," Kayla lied. "He knows you gave him the knife, by the way. That was very thoughtful of you."

"I had to," Neeshka said. "I couldn't let him just sell it like that. It was his dad's, and you know he's got nothing of his own but his hammer and the clothes on his back. Everybody needs one treasure."

"Why did he sell it, then?" Kayla asked, shocked that he would have parted with something so precious.

"He needed the money, maybe," Neeshka replied evasively.

Kayla should have known better than to ask. He sold it so he could buy her a gift. She sighed. She would never get a straight answer out of Casavir because he had none, himself. The strands of love and pain and loss were woven throughout his very being. He was confusing her because he was confused himself. At least she would have something to think about on her vigil.

"I'm going to be gone tonight," Kayla said. "I've got to stand vigil before I can be made a squire officially."

"That's what Khelgar said," Neeshka agreed. "Better you than me."


	44. Torment

_Disclaimer: Obsidian owns eveybody but Kayla._

_Note: This chapter and the one before were originally one chapter, but it got to be a little to long to read in one go._

* * *

If Casavir had expected his reunion with Sir Grayson Corett to be painful, he was only partially correct. Yes, some of the memories had been uncomfortable, but Grayson conversed with him as a friend, not as the adversary he had been when they parted. It was no easy thing, Casavir knew, to let go of hopes and dreams when they proved impossible to attain, yet Grayson had forgiven him and welcomed him back into his friendship as if they had never had cross words between them.

They spoke of important matters first, of course, but afterward, they talked about pleasant things, of schoolboy adventures and a hundred "where are they now?"s. Grayson had maintained contact with most of their former classmates, and he delighted in informing Casavir of what each had done with his or her life.

But the morning passed, and noon approached. They worshiped together, at a shrine to Tyr someone had erected in the Park, then wound their way back toward the busy streets of the Merchant District.

"Shall I walk you home?" Grayson asked Casavir.

"No," Casavir replied, "though perhaps I might see you to your door. I can show her there myself, when the time comes."

"It's a long walk, Cas," Grayson smiled.

"Small wonder you feel your age, if you think it far from Blacklake to the Docks," Casavir laughed. He felt lighter, after his talk with his old friend. He had not realized how isolated he had become. He had new friends, of course, but this friendly voice from his past rejuvenated him in a way Khelgar's could not. He felt young again.

"Have a care," Grayson snorted in response, "we're of an age, almost, you and I. Don't tease your elders, or they'll have no mercy on you when your joints start to go."

"We thought we would live forever," Casavir reflected, sobering.

"The wars changed that," Grayson sighed.

"Indeed," Casavir agreed.

"Stop it," Grayson swatted his arm. "You were always too serious for your own good. Walk me home, then, and ride with your lady there later."

"She is not my lady," Casavir said.

"You were always too dense for your own good, too," Grayson observed. "I remember when you finally started getting your whiskers in. Girls would throw themselves at you, and you barely noticed. Small wonder, if I thought you might prefer men. I still remember the time Magda and Janin tied you up behind the gardener's shed and wouldn't let you go until you promised to kiss them both."

"And when I kept my word, Prior Hlam caught me," Casavir chuckled. "I feared the scars from that lashing would never fade."

"You could have told Prior Hlam the truth," Grayson rolled his eyes.

"And have Magda and Janin flogged?" Casavir snorted. "Not on your life. And I was to blame for that, not them. They were curious, nothing more, but I could hardly control my adolescent urgings. I should have resisted, even if they never untied me. Someone would have found me eventually."

"Cas, you are as wrong now as you were then," Grayson sighed. "Enough of that, though. And here we are! Do you think you can find the place again?"

"Easily," Casavir assured him.

"I don't suppose I'll see you later, Cas," Grayson said, "at least not until after Kayla's made her vows to Lord Nasher. I'll see if I can smuggle you in. You won't want to miss that, I'm sure."

"No, I would not," Casavir agreed. "I thank you for everything you have done for her, and for me. Meeting you again, after so many years, was an unexpected joy."

"I hope we'll be seeing a lot of each other," Grayson extended his hand, though he held his other arm away from his body. He left Casavir to choose whether to part with a handshake or an embrace. Casavir chose the embrace. Grayson returned it happily, thumping his back.

"Until tomorrow," Casavir bid his friend farewell.

On returning to the Sunken Flagon, Casavir, as always, sought The Lady. She was deep in conversation with Neeshka, however, with their foreheads nearly touching over the table. It looked intimate. Casavir would not intrude.

Khelgar, Grobnar, and Shandra sat at a nearby table. The glazed eyes and stony expressions on Khelgar and Shandra suggested that Grobnar was telling some kind of a tale. Casavir approached them. He could abide even one of Grobnar's tales, as buoyant as he felt after his walk with Grayson.

"No, Nobby," Khelgar scoffed, "I'm really sure they'd have noticed a pack of gnomes invading that mountain, and I'm dead sure I never saw any clockwork waterfalls, up in those hills."

"Sir Casavir!" Grobnar greeted him enthusiastically. "You've been to the Sword Mountains. I know you have! Tell Khelgar about the waterfall near Crossbow Pass."

"I understand that it is very wet, though I cannot say I have observed any sign of clockwork," Casavir attested.

"That tears it, Nobby," Khelgar slammed the table. "If Cas hasn't seen it, it can't be so. It's your round, for spinning such a fanciful yarn."

"He just doesn't know what to look for!" Grobnar continued. He launched into some kind of explanation after that, but Casavir did not heed him. His gaze was fixed once more on The Lady.

She had braided her hair carelessly this morning perhaps, but a lock had pulled free of its binding, and curved along her cheek and neck. Casavir watched spellbound as Neeshka reached across the table to touch the hair obscuring her companion's face. The tiefling ran her finger along it, brushing The Lady's cheek, tucking the strand behind her delicate ear. In his mind, it was his own finger that stroked that porcelain cheek, and his own hand that lifted her face to the candlelight. He imagined himself running reverent fingertips along her jaw, and down her graceful neck, until they rested on the curve of her collarbone.

Unbidden, a vision formed in his mind. He saw himself in his bed, as he had been that morning, with The Lady nestled against his side. Her face was cradled in the hollow of his shoulder, and her hair lay across him. He brushed her hair aside and lifted her face to his. He did not kiss her, but rather, he brushed her lips with his fingertips. Gently taking his hand, she kissed each of his fingertips in turn, then lovingly placed his hand against her cheek. He stroked it, but his caress did not end at her neck, but continued to stroke one bare shoulder. She offered no resistance as he eased the linens down her body. She sighed in shy anticipation of his touch.

"Have you come unhinged, lad?" Khelgar's voice cut through Casavir's reverie.

"Forgive me, Khelgar," he heard himself say. "I need air. I shall visit the stables, perhaps. She must ride to her vigil tonight, so I should ensure the tack is in good condition."

"Yeah, you do that," Khelgar laughed. "The lad's unhinged, all right. Poor bastard."

Casavir ignored him. He must get away. He needed solitude, he was certain, though he did not intend to look for it in the stables.

* * *

Casavir felt guilty for what he had done. He knew it was wrong, that he had no right indulging in the fantasies he had pursued the last quarter candle, but he had little choice. The beast within him stirred, and the force of his will had been insufficient to subdue it unfed. Still, he might take solace in the fact that he had appeased his lust himself, without sullying the honor of a woman. Scant comfort, but he would find it where he could.

He gulped air still, and his pulse yet pounded in his ears, but he thought he heard the unmistakable click of a key in the lock of his door.

"NO!" he screamed, even as he yanked his leggings up, but it was too late. If, by some miracle, he had managed to dress himself before the door opened, he had not been quick enough to prevent her from seeing the motion. He threw the linen across himself, raising his knees to hide any telltale outlines in his clothing, but there could be no doubt what he had been doing.

She stood in the doorway, motionless, her mouth open in shock.

"I'm sorry!" she gasped, then slammed the door. Casavir heard her footsteps racing down the hall a short distance, then the sound of her own door opening and closing.

What should he do? He was unsure how much she had seen, but her shock and her flight told him that she had seen enough. But she had come to his room for a reason. What was it? She was angry with him. Perhaps she had reconsidered her decision to wait until tomorrow to speak to him... and now she was gone. He had to follow her, but he could not. He was ashamed... and he was still red-faced and sweating from his self-indulgence.

Still, she knew what he had done. There was no point in denying it. He needed to go to her, to beg forgiveness.

His hand shook on the latch. What would he say? It did not matter. All that mattered was that she be made to understand that he was repentant, and that she need not fear him... and that he would never again do what he had done.

He hesitated again before knocking on her door. His breathing and pulse were still too quick, but it was his shame making them that way, not his recent exertions. He examined his clothing, and was satisfied that he showed no outward sign of his folly.

He knocked.

The door opened. She blushed, but miraculously, she did not look angry. If anything, she looked embarrassed.

"Cas..." she stammered, "I'm sorry. I should have knocked. I asked Khelgar where you'd gone, but he said you went to the stables."

"Forgive me," he breathed. "I... I told Khelgar that I went there. I... my lady, may we speak?"

"Yes, Cas," she replied, her voice weary, "I think we should."

She led him to the table and gestured toward a seat. She sat on the other chair and picked up an earthenware cup, though she did not yet drink from it. He looked at the decanter.

"Have some," she said, pushing another cup toward him. He managed to get most of the wine in the cup, and drank deeply before looking at her again.

"My lady," he began, "I do not know what you saw, when you opened my door, but -"

"I'm really sorry, Cas," she said. "That's twice, now, that I've intruded when you didn't want me there, and it's been less than a day. I should give you your key back."

"No, my lady," he said firmly. "Now, more than ever, I do not want a locked door to stand between you and safety, in light of the accusations against you... my lady, despite what you witnessed, you need not fear me -"

"Is that what this is about?" she sounded surprised. "Don't be ridiculous, Cas. I'm not afraid of you. You won't touch me when I want you to, so I'm positive you won't do it when I don't. And don't be embarrassed. I didn't see anything, really, but the look on your face gave it away. Don't, Cas. You didn't do anything wrong, so don't beat yourself up over it. I'll just have to learn to knock in the future, regardless of whether I think you're in there or not."

"You may knock if you wish," he said, "but if I do not answer, or if your need to reach me is urgent, do not hesitate waiting for a response. I sleep soundly, as you know. I will never again subject you to the discomfort of... just now."

"Forget it, already!" she rolled her eyes at him.

Casavir cleared his throat and took another gulp of wine.

"You wanted something, my lady?" he said at last.

"It was nothing, really," she said. "I was just noticing how filthy my armor is, and I thought I might buff it up a bit. I don't have any armor polish, but I know you do. I was hoping to borrow it before you got back from the stables."

"Allow me to do it for you," he said.

"We'll compromise," she smiled. "I'll do the body armor if you do the arms and legs. Wish I had a chance to give my gambeson a bath. It reeks, and it's still a bit damp from the rain."

"Perhaps you might send for a new one," Casavir suggested. "It is always advisable to have a spare, and the armorer you used before will have retained your measurements. He will not have time to make one to order, but he will have one on hand that will be close enough."

"Good idea, Cas," she agreed. "And I'll order spares for you and Khelgar, too. You're both getting a bit whiffy, downwind."

"My lady..." Casavir hesitated. She seemed to have softened toward him, somewhat. Perhaps she had forgiven him for whatever he had done, but he still wanted to know what it was, so he could avoid repeating the mistake. "You said you wished to speak with me."

"I still do," she said heavily, "but I still can't. You confuse me, Cas. One moment, you hold me, the next, you push me away. I don't know what to think. I don't even know what I want."

"I... my lady, I am sorry," he sighed. "I know this must be difficult for you to understand, and I do not intend to confuse you. I do not... court you, and I have wronged you if I have led you to believe otherwise. As for... last night..."

He swallowed. He had faced even the horrors of war, but now, he could not talk to a woman.

"As for last night," he repeated, "my lady, I strive to be virtuous, and to uphold the virtue of others, but I am a man. If I feel softness beside me, I want to touch it. I try to resist, but you know I am not myself when I am not fully awake."

"I like you better when you're drowsy, to be perfectly honest with you," she said frankly. "I only wish there was some way to get you to stay like that."

Her words lanced him like arrows.

"Forgive me," he said flatly, rising to leave. "I had not realized I was so flawed."

"No, Cas!" she said, jumping up herself and catching at him before he had reached the door. She stood there for a moment, clinging to his arm and searching his face.

"Please, don't go," she sighed. "We can get through this. Please, sit down. Have some more wine."

"You have preparations to make," he said, though he felt himself yielding. "I should not detain you."

"You can help me," she said. "I'll ring for a porter to get the gambesons, and you can help me get my armor in shape... though I suppose you need to go get the armor polish. But not yet. Let's talk just a little longer."

"Ring for the porter," he said, "and I shall return with the polish, after I have seen that your tack is ready."

She sighed again, but she let him go.

This time, he did go to the stables, and spent far longer there than he intended. He needed to think himself. He thought she knew him, but he was wrong. She did not know him at all, if she thought he reveled in his weakness. Yes, he held her, when his will faltered, but he took no joy in the memories... that was untrue. He took great joy in the memories, but he reproached himself for that, too. He had no right to delight in the touch of her hair against his skin. The pleasure he felt at her touch was an affront to decency. She needed him to be strong, not to wallow in sentiment like an unfettered libertine.

She said she did not know what she wanted. In this, he was certain. Were she in her right mind, she would realize that he served her better when he was not distracted by her allurements.

Still, time did not stand still, and she wanted his help in getting her armor ready. That, certainly, was in perfect keeping with his duties and responsibilities as her protector. He collected the armor polish from his room and knocked on her door.

He grew faint when she opened it. She wore a green silk robe and nothing else that he could see. He wanted to flee, but he forced himself to stand his ground.

"My lady..." he protested, "are you not afraid of soiling your robe? Your armor, as you say, is very dirty."

"I can take it off, if you prefer," she suggested. There was something different about her voice. It sounded sultry, and it hit him straight in the libido.

"No! Don't, I beg you," he stammered. "My lady, are you well?"

She let out an exasperated sigh and shrugged off the robe. Casavir staggered, but recovered. Under it, she wore her sleeveless singlet and leggings, but the robe had hidden them. Odd, that the sight of her in less clothing should excite him less than the sight of her in a robe, but it was true. The suggestion of nudity was enough to distress him. More than enough.

"Come on, Cas," she said. "We might as well get this over with."

He seated himself, brought out the tin of armor polish, and went gratefully to work.

"Is there no way you can be both, Casavir?" she asked him suddenly.

"My lady?"

"You're virtuous, all right," she said, putting down the brush she had been using on her breastplate and running a fingertip along his jaw, "but can't you be sensitive, too? You didn't swear away your right to be human when you made your vows."

"I will not be drawn into this discussion," he said firmly, though his next words made him a liar. "My lady, this is not like you. It is right and proper that you should be compassionate. Lathander is a benevolent god. I have even grown accustomed to your... demonstrative tendencies. You show happiness or gratitude with your touch. It unsettled me, at first, but I have come to understand that your warm, innocent nature knows no other way to express itself. But this... my lady, do not play the seductress. I know you are no wanton, but... please. I know you to be a modest woman, yet you greet me at the door in a silken robe, with a voice that would melt a glacier. Maidenly grace becomes you better."

"Cas, why can't you see me as I am?" she demanded, abandoning any pretense of working on her armor. "I am not innocent, and I am not a maiden."

Casavir blinked at her. She was angry. She was false with him because she was trying to make him angry, as well, to justify her own rage.

"You shall not incite me to anger that easily," he said. "I know you do not mean that."

"Don't I?" she all but shouted. She circled the table and stood over him, one narrow fist clutching each side of the neck opening of his shirt. "You want proof, take me yourself! I won't bleed."

Casavir could do nothing but watch helplessly as madness claimed her. It could be nothing else. She had been through much, in the last day. Apart from his own mistreatment of her, she stood accused of murder. It must torment her. Of course it was a lie, but she would still hang, even in Neverwinter, if her innocence could not be proven. And now, he had unintentionally provoked her. She must believe that he thought her a child, and that only by violently denying her virtue could he be made to realize that she was not.

"I know you are no child," he said as soothingly as he could manage, with her face scant inches from his own. He covered her hands with his, willing her to relax. "You are a beautiful, vibrant woman. You do not have to debase yourself to prove that."

With a sharp wrench, she tore his shirt open, exposing his naked chest.

"Do it!" she wailed. She straddled him, first clawing at the ties that held his leggings closed, then thrusting herself against him, when the knots proved more resistant than her patience. "Do it now!"

Casavir sat frozen, mouth open in shock. He was too stunned to do more than stare as she tore her own shirt from her body and thrust her bare breasts in his face.

"What is wrong with you?!" she screamed. "Are you a man or not?"

Once more, her hands were in his groin, groping, fumbling for his manhood. That broke his trance. He seized her wrists and pulled them to his chest. Taking them both in one fist, he fumbled on the table for her discarded singlet with his free hand.

"Please, my lady," he appealed to her again, trying to cover her with the singlet. "Please, do not..."

She howled with rage. Once again, she proved stronger than he estimated. Breaking free of his restraint, she lashed out, clawing his face with her nails. He felt blood welling in the shallow cuts.

"Oh gods..." she gasped suddenly, her face reflecting pure horror. "What have I done?"

She reached out and touched his face, then stared at her bloody fingertips. She looked down, at his bare chest and her own partial nudity, then further down, at the legs she had wrapped around him.

"Oh gods... no..." she threw herself away from him, clutching her singlet to her bosom. "Oh, Cas, I'm sorry..."

She sat on the floor, hugging her knees and weeping.

Casavir allowed himself a sigh of relief. She had come back to him at last.

As he had the night Shandra was kidnapped, he seated himself behind her, took her into his arms and let her cry. She shuddered at the feel of his skin against her bare back, but eventually, she calmed and her breathing slowed.

"Oh, Cas," she moaned. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me."

"I do," he said soothingly, holding her tighter and stroking her hair. "I can only marvel that you have not cracked before now, the pressure on you is so great. Your life has changed forever, since this morning, and you face grave danger. There is no shame in being human."

"Did I just assault you?" she gulped.

"Perhaps," he admitted, though he kept his voice gentle, "but I know that you were not yourself, and you did me no harm."

"Your face..."

"I did worse to myself shaving, this morning," he murmured into her hair.

"I tore your shirt... and I tried... I tried to... touch you."

"I have other shirts... and you have not harmed me," Casavir took a steadying breath himself, at that. He had not been roused by her touch at the time, seeing her actions as madness rather than desire, but the way she spoke when she admitted trying to touch him made his heart pound. "Rest here a moment longer, and let go of your cares. I will not allow any harm to come to you."

She took his hand in hers and pressed it to her lips, then held it against her face. He rested his cheek against her hair and sighed.

"This is what I want, Cas," she said softly. "I want you to talk softly to me, and hold me in your arms. When you're like this, I feel close enough to see your soul."

The hollowness in his throat was back. He ached for her, but this was no lustful yearning. He wanted to pull her against his body, to press her to himself so hard that her body merged with his, and her heart beat beside his own.

"My lady..." he breathed, then faltered. How could he tell her that what she wanted, what he wanted, was not possible? He could not become her lover, even if it eased his own loneliness. He was her protector, her guardian, and she was his charge. The gods were cruel, to make her so lovely to him, body and soul, but that changed nothing.

Was that not what he wanted? For the last eleven years, he had voluntarily subjected himself to every hardship, in the hopes of atoning for a crime that should have cost his life. He believed that his life was spared to give him the opportunity to repent, and that he could not attain his reward, his release, until he had washed away his sin with his own sweat and his own blood. He suffered, it was true, but his pain paid a debt, and he had been grateful for it. Here, at last, was his final burden, his final torment. If he could just be strong, if he could resist until her task was done, he might finally be free. Yet now, with her hair against his cheek and her body cradled in his arms, he wondered if freedom was worth the price.

"I know," she sighed. "You can't. And that's why this is so difficult for me. Still, once in a while might just be enough."

"I will try," he said softly. "Come now, my lady, the afternoon passes, and you will go to your vigil soon. I will turn my back to you, and when you are dressed, we will finish polishing your armor, and you will brush out your hair, and I will take you to your sponsor."

"Will you stand vigil beside me, Cas?" she asked before he could release her. "I'd feel better, if you were there."

"As would I," Casavir smiled, then kissed the top of her head. "But tradition dictates that you stand vigil alone. Yet I will be with you in spirit, perhaps. I intend to go to the Hall of Justice, tonight, and my prayers will be for you."

"You're going back to the temple?" she asked. "I thought you avoided the place."

"Perhaps it is time to put that part of the past behind," Casavir smiled. "I will not rejoin my old Order, perhaps, but today, I learned that friendship and fellowship can survive in unlikely places."


	45. Solace Glade

_Disclaimer: Obsidian owns everyone but Kayla, Sir Barret, and Lucina._

* * *

Kayla pulled on her discarded shirt, and a tunic from her clothing chest besides. She would cheerfully have donned every garment she owned, if she could have disappeared in them. She wanted to run, to hide, to throw herself off the Dolphin Bridge, even, she was so ashamed.

Casavir seemed determined to pretend her assault on his person never happened, but she could not forget the look on his face, nor could she forget her rage. She had never felt like that before, and prayed that she never would again.

It came from nowhere... no, that was not true. She had felt the rage creep over her from the moment he came to her room to apologize for being human.

It irritated her when he dismissed his tenderness as nothing more than sleepy reflex. It infuriated her when he claimed that, in behaving like that, he was not himself. Everyone knew that one's true nature emerged during the groggy, twilight state between sleep and waking. In his soul, Casavir _was_ the gentle, vulnerable man who craved the comfort of human contact, not the stiff, formal animated statue he pretended to be. Even his body rebelled against the impossible control he imposed on it. And then, when he finally let himself be human, in the privacy of his bedroom, he berated himself for it, calling it perversion.

So, she had decided to try to tempt him, to force his desire to manifest itself. She put on her silk robe and coaxed him. Now, she saw that her idea was flawed, that she should have just let him be, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

And her anger... that was certainly her fault. His rejection stung, but it always did. She had lived through it before, with him. Yes, it annoyed her that he insisted on believing the lies he told himself about her chastity, but she might have just let it go. His illusions were not helpful, but they hurt no one, either. But no, she was beyond reason.

She had been wrong-footed since that morning, when Sir Nevalle told her she was accused of murdering dozens of innocent people. If she was found guilty, and she very well might be, despite Sand's assurances to the contrary, she would be hanged. And if that was not enough of a burden, she would have a host of new responsibilities as well, as Sir Grayson's squire. Her nerves were in tatters.

And then, when she most needed Casavir's unconditional support, he insisted on treating her like a child. That was the final indignity, and she could not let it pass.

At first, she only wanted him to admit that she was a woman, but he patronized her. That was enough to push her past all reason. She had not assaulted him because she desired him. She wanted to humiliate him, to make him submit to her. Had she succeeded, it would have been rape.

That chilled her. She had committed an unmistakably evil act. There would be a reckoning, even if Casavir had forgiven her.

"We are done here," Casavir said at last. She could not face him. "Shall I help you arm?"

"No, thanks, Cas," she heard herself say.

"Very well," he said. "I shall saddle our horses and meet you in the street outside."

He was waiting for her, as she knew he would be. He held her stirrup for her.

"How can you be like this, Cas?" she asked him. "After what I did to you, you should hate me."

"And yet, I do not," he replied with the barest trace of a smile.

"You should," she said turning away. "Cas, if our places had been reversed, and if you had done to me what I did to you, would you have Fallen?"

"Yes," he admitted heavily. "But my crime would have been worse."

"How?" she asked, though her back was to him, still.

She heard him hesitate, and take a deep breath and hold it. Finally, he exhaled and spoke.

"My lady," he said softly, "you might have sought something from me, but I am far stronger than you are, and without my... cooperation, you would still have been denied. Had our positions been reversed... no, I cannot speak of it."

She groaned. Perhaps he intended that as comfort for her, but it had the opposite effect. If the only things that had prevented her from taking him were his greater physical strength and his lack of arousal... She shuddered in horror again at what she had done.

She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Everything happens for a reason, my lady," he said, his voice soothing. "I am uncertain why this occurred, but I have faith that the answer is benevolent. Perhaps this should serve as a warning, about the dangers inherent in pretending to be something you are not."

She turned to face him, unable to believe the words he had just uttered.

"A warning, certainly," she said. "A warning that evil is creeping into my soul."

"No, my lady," he sighed. "Yes, you were wrong to do what you did. I will not attempt to deny it. Yet you have done nothing that may not be forgiven. I forgive you freely. The gods alone know the torments you suffer. The wrong you have done me is a small, petty thing, best forgotten by us both, but it still might serve to prevent a greater evil. You have been given a night to meditate on your life. You must spend some of that time in contemplation of your new estate, of course, but you might also choose to assess the wellbeing of your soul. Despite the discomfort of this afternoon, I believe some good will come of it."

"You really are too good to be true," she said, but her words were bitter. She wished she believed him. He might even be right, for all she knew, but how could anything good come out of the attempted rape of a paladin? He forgave her, but her crime was not absolved.

"My lady, we must go," he said gently, touching her arm. "Please, put this aside for a while. Do not let your inner turmoil ruin what should be a joyous occasion for you."

She sighed in exasperation. Casavir spoke as if emotions could be turned off or on like one of Grobnar's ale spigots. Perhaps for him, they could be, but she doubted there would be any peace for her, that night or many, many more.

Still, he was right. She needed to be in Blacklake.

She allowed Casavir to help her mount, and followed him to Sir Grayson's home. It was a modest house, as far as Blacklake residences went, about the size of Aldanon's, though not quite so well-situated. A liveried servant met her at the door.

The first part of the evening passed slowly. As she had predicted, she had been unable to put aside her guilt over her behavior with Casavir, so she was tense and awkward all night. Sir Grayson's companion, Sir Barret, was probably the only person she met all evening she might remember later, but he would have been hard to forget. He was a giant of a man, a hand's breadth taller than Casavir, at least, and barrel-chested, with hair brighter than her own. Casavir had described his hair as loud. Seeing it, she could only agree.

Sir Barret greeted her politely, but there was an odd formality about his manner that reminded her painfully of Casavir. He, too, appeared to be reserved, and he, too, betrayed nothing of his thoughts through outward behavior. Sir Grayson might have accepted her into his circle warmly, but Sir Barret, it seemed, needed more than a brief introduction to induce him to offer his friendship. The similarities were painful to Kayla. She wanted to delay thinking about Casavir, and how she had wronged him, but avoidance was impossible, when Sir Barret's every gesture reminded her of her friend. Sir Grayson could not possibly know the reason for her discomfort around his lover, but he seemed to sense it, and be sympathetic.

"I'm not sure all this standing is good for you, Barret," he said.

"I'll manage," Sir Barret brushed aside his lover's concerns. "It isn't every day you take a squire."

"Do you remember Cas, love?" Sir Grayson asked.

"Casavir?" Jealousy flared briefly in Sir Barret's hazel eyes. "Aye, how could I forget? Scrawniest of his year, he was, with the most appalling taste in women."

"He's filled out and grown up, Barret," Sir Grayson winced and cast an apologetic glance at Kayla. "And he's Kayla's very good friend, so perhaps you might allow that his taste has improved."

Sir Barret's rapidly reddening face stood in sharp contrast to his unchanging expression.

"Forgive me," he said. "I did not know you were acquainted with the man. Should I take this to mean the he has returned to Neverwinter?"

"Yes, Sir Barret," Kayla replied timidly.

"If he is your friend, I might advise you to get him out of the city as soon as possible," Sir Barret said gravely. "I fear that not everyone in the city would welcome his return with Sir Grayson's enthusiasm."

Kayla blanched at the implication of Sir Barret's words. Did Casavir's loyalty to her place him in danger?

"Barret, please!" Sir Grayson interrupted anxiously. "You're frightening my squire! Casavir has changed much, in the years since you last saw him, but he has not changed in one very important respect."

Sir Grayson put an affectionate hand on Sir Barret's arm and leaned in close so he might whisper something in his ear. Perhaps Sir Grayson's discomfort on Kayla's behalf might have made him careless, or perhaps Sir Barret's hearing was not what it might once have been, but Kayla was able to make out the words Sir Grayson whispered.

"He still likes women," Sir Grayson told him, "Kayla, in particular. Do you really want to malign him in front of his lover?"

Sir Barret's whispered reply was loud enough to make Kayla think that he might, in fact, be going deaf.

"It isn't him I'm worried about," he replied. "You never got over him, Gray."

Sir Grayson blushed scarlet, and turned to Kayla.

"Forgive us, please," he said aloud. "It seems that Sir Barret and I have a matter of some importance to discuss in privacy. Sir Barret's squire, Lucina, is over there. It might be a good idea to get to know each other a bit, since you'll be working together much of the time. If you'll excuse us a moment, I'll collect you soon."

Kayla bowed her acceptance and went to talk to Lucina. It was difficult, forcing herself to converse with a stranger while she was so distracted, but she had little choice. Sir Grayson had requested privacy, and, while she could hardly do anything but think of Casavir, he was not present. Lucina's quiet manner did not help, nor did the soft, shy glances the woman cast at her knight. Whatever Sir Barret's affection for Sir Grayson, his squire appeared to look on him with longing. Poor man... and poor Lucina.

At last, after half a candle of awkward silence broken by erratic attempts at conversation, Sir Grayson approached. Sir Barret was nowhere in evidence.

"Has Sir Barret retired?" Lucina asked in surprise.

"His knee was bothering him, again," Sir Grayson explained.

"Excuse me, Sir Grayson, but I should go to him," Lucina said. "He rests better after the application of salve."

Sir Grayson sighed at her departure.

"Poor girl," he said. "She pines for him. I know it's his fault for wishing to avoid a confrontation over something emotional, but he would really have been better off breaking her heart once and getting it over with. This way, her heart breaks over and over again, each time she starts to believe that she's getting closer to him. She knows that Barret and I are lovers, but she still hopes that the love of a good woman will change him. And it's a waste, too. As pretty as Lucina is, and as kind, she'd be a good catch, if she'd just let Barret go."

Kayla sighed. Something about that sounded familiar.

"But none of this drama has any bearing on this evening," Sir Grayson went on, oblivious to Kayla's hesitation. "You will have to excuse Sir Barret. He is usually much more personable. He does respect Casavir, though there are... issues. I'm sorry, Kayla. I should have told you the truth about my relationship with Casavir. We were very close, while we were both in school, but while I was attracted to him, he was not attracted to me. We had a falling out, and did not part on friendly terms, though we seem to have repaired the breach. In any case, Sir Barret is aware of my former affection for Casavir, and for some illogical reason, he felt threatened by his return to Neverwinter. I have done my best to explain the situation to him, but I fear that it might take seeing the two of you together for him to put his fears to rest."

"Sir Grayson..." Kayla began, "there is nothing between Casavir and myself."

"Oh my," Sir Grayson groaned. "That does make things rather uncomfortable, I'm afraid. Oh, well, I suppose it will all work out in the end. It always does."

"Sir Grayson," Kayla said, "I am grateful for the place you have made for me in your household. I suspect that you had no plans to take a squire at all, any more than I had plans to become one, but your willingness to make this more than just a ruse to fool Luskan has inspired me to welcome the change in my status. You have already observed that things are uncomfortable, and not just where Sir Barret is concerned. I made a mistake, Sir, a grave one, and I must find some way to learn to live with the consequences."

"Does it involve Cas?" Sir Grayson asked.

"Yes," Kayla admitted.

"Would you like to talk about it?" Sir Grayson asked gently. "I know that you don't really know me all that well, but I'm predisposed to like you, with the friends you keep, and I know Cas. Perhaps I can help you."

"I... I'm sorry, Sir," she shifted from foot to foot, unable to meet her knight's eyes. "Your kindness means a lot to me, but I'm not sure I can... talk about it. I'd really just like some time to think... alone."

"I understand," he said. "We don't have to stay here all evening, you know. Your vigil can begin as soon as you're ready. Would you like to go now?"

"Very much," she said gratefully.

"Then let's go," Sir Grayson said with no further ceremony.

He ordered that their horses be saddled.

"Solace Glade is outside Neverwinter," Sir Grayson told her, "in a hollow in the hills, a mile from the outer walls. We'll ride there, but I'll be bringing your horse back with me, and return for you in the morning."

They rode through the darkened Neverwinter streets in silence. The city was blanketed in a heavy mist that kept all but the thieves and the most determined revelers indoors. Even the steady _clop-clop_ of their horses' hooves was muffled.

The lights of the temple of Tyr shone through the mist and the darkness. Was Casavir there? He had said that he, too, would spend the night in meditation. She looked away, embarrassed by her selfishness. She should have urged him to sleep, instead.

"Would you like to call at the temple?" Sir Grayson asked her. Apparently, he had noticed the direction of her gaze.

"No," she replied. "If he's there, he won't want to see me."

"As you wish." Sir Grayson sounded skeptical, but he did not press her. Kayla was thankful for that.

Solace Glade might have been more aptly named Solace Dell, or maybe even The Noose. It was situated partway up one of mountains that encircled Neverwinter's landward side, in a wooded valley. The area was sunken below the level of the surrounding terrain, and ringed with thick, heavily scented pines. The floor of the dell was paved in flagstones, and a rough wooden shelter offered token protection against inclement weather. There was only one path into Solace Glade, and no concealment within it. As if further exposure were necessary, or even possible, the entire glade was lit with slow-burning torches set in iron cressets.

_Cas would have a fit if he saw this place,_ Kayla reflected. She had never felt more vulnerable.

"This night marks the end of your liberty, squire," Sir Grayson said. "When you leave the Glade tomorrow, you will be bound to Neverwinter and to my service. It is not yet too late to change your mind, if you are unprepared to accept that burden."

"I am prepared," she answered.

"Very well," Sir Grayson went on. "When I return for you in the morning, I will be returning for my squire. Unless you choose to leave my service, or I elect to release you, it is a bond that will only be broken by your death or mine, outside the power of any other to influence, or by your elevation to knighthood. You may use this time to reflect on the duties and responsibilities of your new role, of course, or you may pray, or just clear your mind and think of nothing... or perhaps there are other matters that require solitary reflection. In any case, you should prepare yourself."

"Thank you, Sir Grayson," Kayla answered, then watched him mount his horse and ride away, leading Peaches behind him.

Kayla knelt at the shrine under the wooden shelter. It was dedicated to Tyr, not Lathander, but perhaps that was fitting. She had business with Justice tonight.

What madness had come over her, earlier? Even while she raged, a part of her remained detached, watching what she did in horror, but unable to stop herself. Only the sight of Casavir's blood had calmed her, restored her sanity.

Why had she lost her mind at all? Casavir irritated her, at times, but she was used to his ways. The answer to that, at least was clear. Sir Nevalle's words that morning had taken away the last shred of control she had over her life. When she left West Harbor, she did so at another's insistence. All she had done since, she did at another's urging. Her will was not her own, and she had no control over her own destiny. In West Harbor, she had choices. All right, the only choices she really had were what to do with her body and who she might eventually marry, but in the world of West Harbor, those were the only choices anybody had. Where the only decisions one might make during the course of a lifetime were what to plant in which field, all decisions were small. In the months since, her freedom had been taken from her little by little. She had to find out about the shards because the lives of others depended on it. She had to become a Watchman because she could not become a thief. She had to do every stupid thing that people told her to do. Again and again, she placed her life in danger because people needed saving, and she had no choice but to do whatever it was that other people told her she should do. Bring back stray children and wayward husbands? No problem. Rescue Shandra? At once. Kill githyanki? Certainly. Rescue Shandra again? How could she refuse? Now, she stood accused of murdering dozens of innocent farmers, and did anyone remember her good deeds? No. They could not even be bothered to check that she had actually been in West Harbor when the incident took place. She had no choice but to prove her own innocence. It should be the work of others to prove her guilt, but no. Once again, she had no alternative but to do what everyone else told her she should do.

She had no control over her life, and there was nothing she could do about it.

She could almost hear Casavir's patient reproof: _"There is always a choice. You can follow your conscience, or you can turn your back on it. Either way, there will be a price to pay."_

_You're wrong, Casavir,_ she protested. _That is no choice at all, and you know it. The only thing I can still control is what to do with my own body, and you won't even allow me to do with that what I want._

But no, Casavir was right. He always was. The lack of an attractive alternative did not mean that she had no choice. It just meant that the decision was intuitive enough to require no thought. She had choices aplenty, even if she did not want to take them.

She was angry to the point of madness because she thought she had no control, but she was mistaken in that. She did have control. She could do the right thing or she could refuse to do so. That was a choice Casavir made every day of his life, and he had not broken under the weight of it. One of these days, she was going to have to sit down with him and ask him how he survived like that.

With that question answered, she had another. Why Casavir? Of all the people she could have blown up at, she had chosen the one dearest to her, the one whose good opinion mattered most.

The answer to that, too, was obvious. She trusted him. Of all her companions, he was the one person she knew would never let her down. She loved Khelgar, but Khelgar would not allow her to rant as she had done. He would have slapped her to her senses faster than she could lose her wits in the first place. Neeshka, too, was dear to her, but she could never have allowed herself to become that emotional around Neeshka. She was just too fragile to risk hurting like that. The tiefling had been through enough. But Casavir was patient and he was strong. She could say anything to him, _do_ anything to him, without fear.

That abuse haunted her worse than her physical assault on him had done. Casavir did not allow many people to get close to him. He hid himself behind many layers of armor, physical, mental, and emotional, and few indeed were those that could claim that they knew him. He had let her in, and she had repaid him by attacking him in every one of those ways.

He was a great man, and she had abused his trust. She had let him down, and grievously so. She must never allow that to happen again.

How could she prevent it, save through avoidance? Perhaps the answer to that question might come to her later, after reflecting on other questions.

Why had the sight of his blood calmed her?

Again, that was an easy question to answer. He was a paladin. It was in his blood. No matter what devil possessed her, she could not look on the visible covenant he held with his god without feeling the presence of the divine. She might be Lathander's messenger, and a straying one at that, today, but Casavir was the living vessel of Tyr's will, the strong arm of Justice on Toril. The visible reminder of that obligation was more sobering than any words either of them might utter. No, in the light of that truth, no delusion was possible. Her madness could not exist in the face of it.

So, with her erratic and uncharacteristic behavior duly considered, she had but one more matter to resolve.

She had come to Solace Glade with the intention of deciding what she wanted from Casavir.

She wanted his loyalty. She had it. She wanted him to admit human desires. He had done so. She wanted him to open up to her. He told her his secrets. She had everything she ever asked of him, except for one thing. She wanted to bed him, but he refused. With all he had already given her, could she not allow him that one remaining shred of privacy?

A chill had crept over her that had nothing to do with the weather. If she was intimate with Casavir, he did not want it, at least not with his conscious mind. She was forcing him to be close to her, compelling his confidence. Of all the words they had exchanged, the ones that repeated themselves over and over in her head were the ones where he asked her to desist.

That answered all her other questions. She wanted intimacy with Casavir, but he did not want it with her. All he wanted was to be left alone.

She had most of what she desired from him. Was it not time to heed his wishes?

She sighed. Of all the choices she had been forced to make since the day of the Harvest Fair, perhaps this was the hardest. Where there were two hearts to consider, both must have their say. She wanted him, maybe even loved him, but hers was not the only opinion that mattered. She might well be spared the necessity of making a decision by his own choice. He had a voice. He could state his desire himself. In the morning, she could ask him, once and for all, what he wanted out of their relationship. The answer might not please her, but it was his decision to make, and she would live by his choice.

She felt relieved, free, in a strange way. She was almost certain that he would reject her again, as he had every time she had so much as suggested intimacy before, but there was peace in knowing that the matter was out of her hands. This, at least, might weigh on his shoulders, not hers.

It was time to think of the life she was entering, brief though it might be, if she could not prove her innocence. She tried to meditate on it, but there was really nothing to think about. She would do what was expected of her. That was all that needed to be said. She did not know what Lord Nasher planned for her, but she would find out soon enough.

Kayla heard the unmistakable sound of boots on the flagstones. For one wild, hopeful moment, she thought it might be Casavir, joining her in her vigil despite his assertion that he would not, but no... it was Shandra.

"What's wrong, Shandra?" Kayla asked.

"Nothing," Shandra answered. "Just thought I'd come out here, you know, so you wouldn't be all alone. Took forever to find this place, though."

"Thanks, Shandra..." Kayla hesitated. She was supposed to be spending the night alone, but she felt guilty about sending Shandra packing after the trouble she went through to find her. Besides, had Casavir shown up, she would not have sent him away.

"So what have you been doing all night?" Shandra asked, sitting down and trying to make herself comfortable.

"Thinking," Kayla said simply.

"About what?" Shandra rolled her eyes at Kayla's lack of enthusiasm.

Kayla sighed.

"Casavir and I are having some problems," she explained. "I'd say we've been having a rough couple days, but it's been going on longer than that. I'm starting to think that the only way we can get along with each other is if we don't talk to each other."

"But won't that be kind of difficult?" Shandra asked incredulously. "I mean, you do love him, don't you?"

"I'm starting to think that maybe I do," Kayla sighed again. She was starting to feel like a bellows, but she couldn't help it. "I can't stop thinking about him, but whenever we're together... it's strange. Sometimes, everything is fine, but others, we just can't seem to talk to each other. We argue a lot, too. I don't know if arguing is the right word, but when we're done, it feels like we've just had a fight."

"Could be love," Shandra agreed.

"Or it could be that we're just getting too close too fast and it's hurting us both," Kayla shrugged. "In any case, I've decided to back off."

"Isn't it a little late for that?" Shandra asked. "It's a whole lot easier to let somebody go before you get attached to him."

"I know," Kayla groaned. "Can we talk about something else?"

"You could tell me what Sir Grayson's like," Shandra suggested. "He seemed nice enough at the Watch building, but we barely met, really."

"He's very friendly," Kayla agreed. "And he's very generous. I kind of expected him to just say I was his squire for the benefit of the courts, but he's sincere. I have a feeling that I'm going to like being his squire."

Anything she might have said after that was cut off by a sharp pinch in her neck. She put her hand to her throat and felt something cylindrical with feathers. It was a dart. Shandra was staring at her mutely.

"We're under attack!" Kayla shouted. She hastily slung her shield over her arm and grabbed her mace, even as Shandra drew her own sword, but as far as Kayla could see, they were alone in the glade.

"Did you get her?" said a male voice to her right.

"Yeah," someone on her left replied. "Should be in her system by now. Let her have it."

Belatedly, Kayla looked at the dart she had thrown to the ground. Its tip seemed to be coated in something dark, and it was not her blood. She had been drugged.

She tried to cast a quick Neutralize Poison spell to counteract whatever toxin they used, but she could not focus her will. She still felt Lathander's energy inside her, but she could not tap into it. Whatever else the drug did, it left her powerless.

An arrow clattered harmlessly off her breastplate.

"There's one of them," Kayla heard Shandra shout. Looking in the direction she was pointing, Kayla could just make out the shape of a black-clad man creeping down the side of the dell. She charged toward him.

The fight was short, but it was bloody. There had been three attackers, two swordsmen, one archer, but Kayla and Shandra prevailed, though neither had escaped without injury. Shandra's injuries were mostly superficial, and none were life threatening, but Kayla had taken a knife in the gut and a sword cut to the leg. She was still conscious, but she could not move.

"Healing potions?" Kayla gasped as Shandra searched the bodies.

"No!" Shandra swore. "They've each got vials of something on them, but it looks more like poison. Can't you just heal yourself?"

"No," Kayla said. It was getting harder to talk. "Drugged. Go. Get help. Cas or El."

"Wait!" Shandra said in surprise, standing up. "I've found something. A ring. Here, hang on to it for a while, and I'll be back with help."

Kayla watched Shandra go. She put her hand over the knife wound on her abdomen. It was worse than she thought. If Shandra ran all the way to Neverwinter, found help immediately, and galloped all the way back, it would still probably take half a candle. She would be too late.

She rolled onto her back and looked up at the sky. The sun was rising.

"I raise my hands... and rejoice," Kayla tried to pray, but her voice was barely a whisper. "Dawn has come... darkness will... will not prevail... Praise to Lathander..."

A shadow stood over her, reached out to her, though she could barely see. It was a face, a man's face, with pale skin and short, dark hair. She reached out to touch it.

Casavir.

Light filled the glade, blinding her, engulfing the face of the man she had just learned that she loved. He was free.

She saw or felt nothing more.


	46. Squire

* * *

_Disclaimer: Obsidian owns everybody but Kayla and Barret._

* * *

"Helm's hemorrhoids, Cas, isn't it a little early to be beating up a tree stump?" Duncan's bleary voice called from the doorway.

Casavir checked his next swing at the sound of the half-elf's voice. He had returned from the temple just before dawn, and, unable to sleep, he had decided to burn off some of his nervous energy working over the pell.

It had been a long night. He had gone to the Hall of Justice, as he said he would, but it had taken him a long time to work up the courage to go inside. He prayed that he would encounter no one he knew, and his prayers had been answered. The sanctuary was in use at all hours by the temple's residents, but the inner chapel was usually empty or nearly so, and those few that used it did so for solitary meditation, not for vocal worship. It was there that Casavir directed his steps.

He prayed for tranquility, he prayed for strength, he prayed for answers to questions he was afraid to ask. All night, he made his appeals to Tyr, but when at last the long, empty night was ending, he was no closer to enlightenment. The gods always heard, he knew, but sometimes, the answer was no.

He had prayed for The Lady's safe deliverance from the dangers that beset her, but he already knew how that must be resolved. The gods often showed their will through mortal agents, and he had already accepted the burden of protecting her. If he wanted her safe, it was up to him to make her so.

He prayed that she should find the tranquility she needed, and that he would, as well. It took all his discipline to refuse her. He yearned to yield to her, to submit to her, even, but he could not. He ached for her, but he had been down that path before, and it ended in naught but death and in the destruction of everything he loved. If he abstained, if he remained true to his duty, only then might he be able to protect her.

His refusal hurt her, he knew. He could no longer deny that she offered him the gift of her body, though he did not understand why. He was not Bishop, to ask her to sacrifice her virtue to him in exchange for his service. Perhaps she thought he was weak, that he needed the comfort of intimate human contact to heal the hurts to his soul. She was a healer. It took his breath away, that she should even contemplate something so selfless, but it must be the truth. The depths of her compassion were boundless.

He shuddered. Of all possible ways that he might be tempted, that was the worst. He _was_ weak. He _did_ long for the sensuous contentment that followed passion, and the intoxicating togetherness of holding another person close, in those moments. It _could_ take his pain away... he felt it ease every time he held her. And that was why he must be strong. He needed his pain to maintain his focus. He had a debt to pay, and until that was done, he must resist. After the debt was paid, it would not matter, since he would be dead.

He shook his head and covered his face with his hands. Her life was in danger, and here he knelt, thinking about nothing but his own desires and his own torments. He was useless to her, like this.

He got up and crossed to a bank of votive lights against the wall. Taking a taper, he lit one.

"Keep her safe," he breathed. He stared into the flame. It sputtered once, perhaps some moisture in the wick burning off, then it burned steadily, glowing behind the blue glass. Like her life, warm, fragile, and beautiful.

The night grew old. Soon, it would be morning, and Grayson would send for him. His old friend would find some way to allow him to witness the swearing of her oaths. He should return to the inn to wait.

As he stood, a breeze stirred his hair. The votive he had lit flickered and went out.

It was nothing but the work of a stray draft, but he could not explain the anxiety he suddenly felt. He had to get back to the inn, immediately. He ran.

The Sunken Flagon itself was silent and dark, but Casavir could hear Sal in the kitchen, banging pots and swearing about a delayed delivery. The man never slept, it seemed.

"Have you seen her?" he asked. "Any word?"

"No and no," Sal replied. "I'll let you know if I hear anything, but in the meantime, do you think you could see your way clear to bringing up a bag of oats from the cellar?"

Casavir stomped off to do Sal's bidding, but slipped away before the man could think of something else for him to do. He could not stand still, he was so anxious, but making breakfast with Sal was not likely to give him any peace.

He went out in the courtyard for some pell practice, but Duncan's complaint about the noise put a halt to that. With nothing better to do, but too much tension to stand idle, he unsheathed the Shining Light of Lathander and moved through his stances.

At last, he was able to find some tranquility in the comforting routine of sword drills. The focus required for it blocked out all outside sights and sounds. So engrossed was he that he did not hear the sound of hooves on the cobblestones until they were at the gate.

Casavir turned at the unexpected sound. The gallop slowed to a faltering walk followed by a loud thud like the sound of a hoof against the gate.

"In the name of Ilmater and Tyr, will somebody get this gods damned gate open?!" a familiar male voice bellowed. Casavir ran to obey.

Grayson Corett sat on his horse in the gate, with a copper-haired figure slumped in the saddle in front of him. Icy bands tightened around Casavir's chest and his mouth went dry.

"Cas! Praise Tyr!" Grayson cried in relief. "She's badly wounded... No! Don't touch her! She's full of pikeweed resin. I'm covered in her blood, so I'm no good except to carry her."

Casavir reached for her, but Grayson planted one booted foot on his chest and kicked him away.

"Don't do it, you fool!" Grayson shouted. "You're the only one left that can heal her."

Casavir watched in mute horror as Grayson lay her down across his horse's neck and dismounted, then tugged her off the saddle into his arms.

"Come on, man," he said. "We've got to get the blood off her or we won't be able to touch her."

"Inside," Casavir found his voice. "What happened?"

"Ambush," Grayson said. "Must have been right before I got there, because with wounds like this, she wouldn't have lasted long."

"Oh, gods..." Casavir swallowed his panic and yanked the kitchen door open. "Sal! Get Elanee!"

"I was able to patch her up a bit before the pikeweed got me, too," Grayson said. "I didn't know they used it on her, but I found a dart coated with it on the ground, and another three on one of the assassins. Anyway, all I'd been able to do was slow the bleeding. I tried to get a healing potion in her, but I couldn't make her swallow it. Anyway, the wounds opened up again on the ride, so we'd better work fast."

Grayson lay her on the table and started tugging at armor straps.

"I'll work on this," Grayson said. "I need you to wash the blood off her. Don't touch her! As soon as you see a patch of skin that isn't bloody, I want you to hit her with every healing spell you've got. Once she's awake, we can get her up to her room and in a tub to get the rest of the blood off. After that, we can neutralize the pikeweed."

Her face seemed the cleanest part of her, but Casavir was reluctant to pour water over it while she was unconscious, so he washed her hand instead. He seized it between his own and poured healing energy into her.

She coughed and opened her eyes. Casavir's relief was almost enough to make him faint, but he did not stop casting until she yanked her hand away.

"Cas, stop!" she gasped. "There's nothing left to heal."

"Praise Tyr," Casavir moaned. Not heeding the blood, he threw his arms around her, choking back sobs.

"That was stupid," Grayson said. "Now you're useless, too."

"What happened?" Casavir and The Lady said together.

"Somebody pumped you full of pikeweed resin," Grayson informed her. "Cas, you'll remember that from the wars. Best way anybody's found yet to disable divine casters. It was on the darts. All it has to do is touch the skin, and it poisons the blood. Whoever it was, they were Luskan, and they knew their target. It only affects clerics, druids, and paladins. An antidote will counteract it, but unless you get that bloody clothing off, you won't get your powers back, even with an antidote. I didn't know you'd been hit with it, and by the time I realized it, it was already too late. Cas, idiot that he is, was fine until just now."

"But you were there!" Kayla protested, looking at Casavir. She ran her fingertips over his face, leaving damp trails that burned his skin, cool as they were. He stared into her face, lost in relief and joy and longing.

"I saw your face," she said, "right before I blacked out. You brought me back, didn't you?"

"That was me," Grayson smiled indulgently, "but I suppose I can understand the confusion. We might look a bit alike, if you're hovering on the brink of death."

Guilt overwhelmed Casavir. She had been struck down, almost unto death, while he lounged in a temple.

"It should have been me," Casavir groaned. "Damn tradition, I should have been there. I should never have let you go alone..."

"Do shut up, Cas, and do something helpful," Grayson rolled his eyes.

"We have to get this blood off," Casavir fretted. "Can you walk?"

Not bothering to wait for an answer, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her out of the kitchen, toward the stair.

"I can manage, Cas," she mumbled into his neck.

"Yes, my lady," he agreed, and carried her up the stair. They met Shandra, Elanee, Sal, and Duncan at the top.

"Put me down!" she ordered.

"No," Casavir refused.

"Ilmater's blood!" Duncan swore. "What happened to you, lass? Why's he carrying you?"

"I'm fine!" Kayla said crossly. "I just can't get the big ox to put me down."

"We'll need a bathing copper and a lot of water," Grayson said.

"Pikeweed, Elanee," Casavir grunted. The druid's eyes widened in recognition of the name.

"I'll get some antidotes," she volunteered, then ran off.

"All three of us," Sir Grayson said, sounding exasperated. "So we've got to get it washed off before we can neutralize it. I suppose the clothing had better be burned. It never washes out, and even dried, it's dangerous. I don't suppose you could loan me some clothes, Cas?"

Duncan opened The Lady's door and stepped back to allow them to enter.

"No, Cas!" Grayson barked. "Not on the bed! Helm's bones, Cas, what in the nine hells is the matter with you? Now you've ruined a set of linens, too. Go stand in a corner and don't touch anything."

Casavir felt himself redden in embarrassment. He knew he had overreacted. The Lady was out of danger, but just plowed on, like the ox she accused him of being, until the pulse in his ears quieted enough to allow him to hear what the others were saying. As if his obtuseness was not bad enough, he had deliberately contaminated himself with pikeweed-tainted blood, and carelessly poisoned her bed, as well. He was a menace. He obeyed Sir Grayson.

"So," Duncan said, "are you going to track this pikeweed, or whatever it is, all over the inn, or are you going to just stay here and make life easier for my porters?"

"The latter, I think," Grayson said dryly.

"Glad to hear it," Duncan snorted. "Now, I'm glad you're on the mend, Kayla, but Sal's got to get back to cooking breakfast, and I've got to get some baths together for you. I'm guessing you'll want the water in buckets with a ladle?"

"That would be best," Grayson said. "Clothes, Cas?"

"Of course," Casavir replied. "I shall get some."

"You'll stand there with your hands at your sides and not touch anything," Grayson grinned. "Shandra, was it? Would you mind? Probably best to have two sets of everything."

"Sure," Shandra agreed. Casavir looked at her intently. She, too, bore wounds, though they looked shallow.

"Shandra?" he asked. "What happened to you? Were you fighting?"

"Er... training injuries," Shandra answered. "You know how it goes."

"Indeed," Casavir said solemnly. She was lying, he was certain, but he could not call her on it now.

"How are we going to do this?" Casavir asked self-consciously. He knew they would have to bathe before they could take antidotes or dress, but he had no desire to disrobe in front of either Grayson or The Lady.

"We'll turn our backs," The Lady said. "Sir Grayson should go first, while the water's still hot, then Cas. I'll go last. I'm sorry, Sir Grayson. I hope this isn't making us late for our appearance in court."

"Don't worry about that," Grayson shrugged. "It won't start without you, never fear."

Before too much longer, Shandra reappeared with Casavir's entire clothing trunk.

"I didn't know what would fit," she explained.

After the porters arrived with the copper and buckets, and Grayson was clean enough to start trying on clothing, the answer to Shandra's question proved to be "not much." They had both been slender, years ago, but, while Casavir had remained lean, Grayson had gained a consderable amount of weight. Of all Casavir's clothing, only his loosest, most shabby tunic fit him, and none of his leggings.

"For years, I dreamed of getting into your leggings, Cas," Grayson lamented, "and now that I have the chance, they don't fit."

"Perhaps you should remember that, next time you dine," Casavir snorted.

"Heh," Grayson laughed. "Let's get you wedded to a lover and see how wide your backside gets."

"Er... do you two know each other?" Shandra asked hesitantly.

"Cas and I go way back," Grayson supplied. "He gave me my first blackened eye... which reminds me of something. Kayla, I'm going to strike you as part of the ceremony. I'll say something like 'This will be the first of your unanswered blows.' It will smart a bit, but you mustn't flinch. And Cas, I don't want you tearing my arm off. It's something all squires have to endure. It's supposed to show submission to the knight, and humility. If it makes you feel any better, when you become a knight yourself, I'll hit you again, and you can clobber me but good. That shows we're equals."

"I understand, sir," The Lady replied.

"All this deference is so tiresome," Grayson rolled his eyes. "In public, Kayla, you'll have to bow and scrape like a good little squire, but when we're alone, or just with Cas, Shandra or Barret, it's Gray, or Grayson, if you must."

"Yes, sir," she acknowledged.

"'Yes, Gray,' if you please," Grayson groaned. "You're making me feel like a fossil."

"Yes, Gray," she ventured shyly.

"There, now," he smiled. "Was that so hard? Cas, you're killing me with these smalls. How in the nine hells can you wear these things? You do have balls, don't you?"

Casavir choked, but Shandra snickered. Casavir shot her a murderous look, which would have been more effective had he not been hiding behind a screen.

"Perhaps you should do without," he suggested when he regained his breath.

"Not on your life," Grayson retorted. "It's bad enough I'll have to ride bare-legged. At least your boots fit. But I swear by all that's holy, I'm going to send my tailor to you, the moment you get back from wherever Sand drags you off to. I dress my servants in better than you've got. And you're no better, Kayla. I won't have my squire shaming me with a shabby wardrobe. None of us can wear our armor until we've had the straps replaced, but isn't there another set you can borrow? I can wear ordinary clothing in front of Lord Nasher, or threadbare, as the case may be, but you'd better armor up."

"You can borrow my leathers," Shandra suggested.

"That will do," Grayson allowed. "Ilmater's blood, girl, don't you eat?"

Casavir turned to see what Grayson was complaining about now, but he wished he had not. The Lady stood beside the tub, sluicing water over her legs. They were slender, certainly, but decidedly, even painfully feminine. He spun away, his blood rising in his cheeks, but as in Callum's encampment, it was already too late.

"Sorry, Cas," she apologized.

"Whatever for?" Grayson asked. "Everybody has legs."

"Shut up, Gray," Casavir muttered.

"Oh, gods," Grayson groaned. "Please tell me you haven't still got _that_ baggage? Kayla, when we were younger, the sight of a bare elbow was enough to unhinge him for hours -"

"Days," Casavir corrected him. "And that will be enough, Grayson Corett, unless you want your squire to hear about your adventure with Pa-"

"Point taken, Cas," Grayson interjected. "But don't stop on my account. You'd burst a blood vessel before you ever got to the end of it. Just think about all those delicious words you'd have to force yourself to say. That in itself would make any humiliation I'd feel insignificant."

"You two could sell tickets for this show," Shandra interrupted, "but hasn't Kayla got to get to Castle Nevar?"

"Yes, yes," Grayson agreed, to Casavir's infinite relief.

A candle later, they were washed, dressed, and back in possession of their abilities. Casavir had no healing spells left, but The Lady healed Shandra's injuries, and The Lady, Grayson, and he started down toward the common room. Sand was waiting for them, resplendent in muted gray robes.

"Seldarine," Sand groaned when he saw them. "Is this really the best you can do?"

"It's a long story," The Lady said by way of explanation. "Shall we go?"

"Yes, certainly," Sand agreed, "but if they admit us at all, it will be through the servant's entrance."

Casavir suspected he was right.

To Casavir's surprise, however, they were shown into the hall immediately.

Lord Nasher sat in state upon the dais, looking sterner than ever. Casavir felt himself flinch under the man's gaze. The overlord of Neverwinter had no reason to love him. Yet Lord Nasher was a powerful man, with cares far more important than the presence of a one-time malcontent. Besides, it was likely that Lord Nasher would not even recognize him. He hoped.

Grayson led The Lady before the dais and stood behind her while she knelt.

"Sir Grayson," Lord Nasher greeted his knight fondly. "It has been long since we have had the pleasure of your company. You have been absent too long."

"Forgive me, your grace," Grayson replied.

"We welcome you joyfully," Lord Nasher went on. "It is pleasing that you should come to us now, and renew the friendship you have long held with Neverwinter."

"It is for that reason that I come, Lord Nasher," Sir Grayson said formally, "and to ask you to witness the oaths of my squire, Kayla of Lathander."

"Your squire is welcome here, Sir Grayson, though we wonder that your household can bear the expense of a squire, seeing how you come before us."

"My household prospers, your grace," Grayson replied, "but my appearance before you reflects rather the poverty of my squire's friend, whose clothing I borrowed after my own was damaged with pikeweed-tainted blood."

Casavir reddened, feeling Lord Nasher's eyes on him again.

"Sir Grayson, we will hear the oaths of your squire in private," Lord Nasher announced suddenly. "Sir Nevalle, would you be kind enough to clear the chamber and then rejoin us?"

"With pleasure, Lord Nasher," Nevalle replied smugly.

Casavir did not even have to look up to see that Nevalle had stopped before him first.

"Lord Nasher has ordered the court adjourned," he said. "You'll have to go back to whatever hole you crawled out of."

"Pray excuse my impertinence at speaking out of turn, your grace," Grayson interjected, "but I would ask that the paladin be allowed to remain. Besides being her loyal follower, he is also her close personal friend. I would have him hear her oaths, as well."

"Your squire is an oddity, to have inspired such unlikely loyalties," Lord Nasher observed dryly. "We will allow it, Sir Nevalle."

"As you wish, sire," Nevalle said unctuously, though he moved away to carry out his orders.

Once the room emptied and the galleries cleared, Lord Nasher descended from the dais and helped himself to a seat on the first row of benches, indicating that the others should take places around him.

"All right, Gray," Lord Nasher said with uncharacteristic informality, "you've got my attention. What was pikeweed doing in Neverwinter, and how did it come to be on your clothing?"

"It was on my clothing because it was in Kayla's blood," Grayson explained. "She was attacked in Solace Glade, during her vigil."

"You're kidding," Lord Nasher startled. "In Solace Glade? Who would dare stage an attack there?"

"Luskans, I'd say from the pikeweed," Grayson answered. "They aren't the only ones who use it, of course, but they're probably the most free with it. It damn near chokes that harbor of theirs."

"I wish it would choke that harbor of theirs," Lord Nasher rubbed a weary hand across his bald scalp. "Then I wouldn't have Luskan ships on the horizon every damned day. But your news is unwelcome, to say the least. It means they knew their target, and they'll know she was there, if any got away. Were there any survivors?"

Lord Nasher waited expectantly for The Lady to speak.

"Well, were there?" he asked when she did not. "Speak up, girl. I won't bite you."

"No, sire," she said. "There were only the three of them."

"You took out three Luskan assassins?" Lord Nasher sounded impressed. "And with your casting disabled, too. Not bad, squire."

"She had help," Grayson said. "And that's the puzzling part. At first, I thought it Casavir's work, since I didn't think he'd keep away, but it wasn't him. Kayla uses a mace and Cas, a hammer, but two of those Luskans met their gods at the end of a sword, or I've gone blind. And I doubt he'd have left her there dying, in any case."

"That was me," Shandra stammered. "I'm sorry, Sir Grayson. I wouldn't have left her at all, but I had to go for help."

"Of course you did," Grayson smiled reassurance, even as Lord Nasher said "And who might you be."

"Shandra, my lord, from Highcliff," Shandra muttered, her face very red. "I know I shouldn't have been there, but..."

"Don't worry about that," Lord Nasher dismissed her apology. "Hardly a vigil goes by in that glade without somebody dropping in. At least now we know that it wasn't some unknown party, serving his own ends."

"Any chance that the ambush was staged on Torio's orders?" Sand asked suddenly.

"Unlikely," Lord Nasher said. "Torio is a snake, but she wants Kayla to survive to stand trial. She needs Kayla to rally Luskan sympathies for her own ends. No, we're back to unknowns, again. There's somebody else with his spoon in this pot, and he'd giving it a good stir for his own reasons. He'll be Luskan, though, or with Luskan connections, but if he's working with Torio, they're working at cross purposes. I hate not knowing whose pieces are on the board."

"And that, sire, is what I intend to find out," Sand said confidently.

"Good," Lord Nasher agreed. "How long should I delay the trial?"

"Can you give me a month?" Sand asked. "We'll have to go into L-"

"Take a month, if that's what you need to assemble a case," Lord Nasher interrupted, "but do not tell me what you intend. The entire point of this ruse was to ensure a fair trial."

Casavir felt his mouth drop in shock at the sacrilege Lord Nasher uttered.

"This is no ruse, your grace!" Grayson echoed Casavir's thoughts. "I assure you that my squire and I are in earnest."

"Yes, of course you are," Lord Nasher rolled his eyes. "And Torio, of course, is acting solely to see justice done."

"Your grace," Grayson's voice was cold, "you do not know me at all, if you think I would embark on an undertaking so grave unless I believed in it absolutely. You have many knights, your grace, several of whom would have taken a squire as an empty gesture, but I am not one of them. When Kayla speaks the words before this court, she will be my squire until death takes one of us, until such time as she becomes a knight herself."

"Very well," Lord Nasher shrugged. "It is within your rights to take a squire, and you have made your choice. Is this your choice as well, Kayla of Lathander?"

"It is, sire," The Lady said levelly.

Lord Nasher rose and climbed the dais again, seating himself on his throne.

"Approach, Sir Grayson," he intoned.

Casavir watched as Sir Grayson led The Lady to the foot of the dais. Once more, she knelt.

Nevalle stepped forward to take his place behind Lord Nasher.

"Kayla of Lathander," Nevalle addressed The Lady, "Sir Grayson, knight of Neverwinter, has declared his intention to accept the oaths of a squire. Are you prepared to vow your service to Sir Grayson, to Lord Nasher, and to Neverwinter?"

"I am," The Lady said firmly.

"As squire, do you vow to uphold the laws and honor of Neverwinter?"

"I do."

"Do you promise to serve Sir Grayson, Lord Nasher, and the city of Neverwinter until your death or the death of your patron, or until you ascend to the order of knighthood yourself?"

"I promise."

"Do you swear to accept instruction at Sir Grayson's hand and to embrace the laws of chivalry?"

"I swear."

"Kayla of Lathander, a squire must be prepared to lay down her life in her duty to her knight and her lord. Are you prepared?"

"I am prepared."

"Sir Grayson, do you accept the word of Kayla of Lathander?"

"I do," Grayson said clearly.

"Will you offer her guidance and instruction, and teach her the ways of the just and righteous?"

"I will."

"Sir Grayson, a knight is sworn to protect his squire with his life and with his honor. Do you swear to do this?"

"I so swear."

"Lord Nasher, you have heard the oaths spoken before you. Do you grant your knight, Sir Grayson Corett, leave to accept Kayla of Lathander as his squire?"

"We do," Lord Nasher assented.

"Sir Grayson Corett, knight of Neverwinter, Lord Nasher hears your petition and grants you leave to accept Kayla of Lathander as your squire."

Casavir watched as Grayson laid a gauntleted hand on The Lady's left shoulder.

"Kayla of Lathander," he said solemnly, "you are now my squire. You are sworn to accept instruction and correction at my hand alone without question or reproof. This is the first unanswered blow."

The force of Grayson's armored fist striking the side of The Lady's head staggered her, but Casavir was certain she never flinched.

"From this day, you answer only to me, Kayla of Lathander, excepting only what duty you owe to my liege and to your god. Any other must answer to my judgment, or to my wrath, should they seek to harm you."

"The court of Neverwinter welcomes you, Squire Kayla of Lathander," Nevalle said formally. "Rise and pledge your allegiance to Neverwinter."

The Lady stood, but she did not ascend the dais.

"Go up the dais, Kayla," Grayson whispered. "You have to kiss Lord Nasher's ring."

Casavir watched her obey, a familiar hollow feeling growing in his throat. Had life been kinder, or had he been less stubborn, he might have stood in her place and uttered her vows. As a boy, he dreamed of becoming a knight. He and Grayson had even enacted the ritual secretly, when they knew no one was watching. It was a childish mockery, he knew, and bore little resemblance to The Lady's squiring, but it spoke of a longing that could never be satisfied. As a youth, his pride had prevented him from seeking the patronage of a knight, and as a man, his own choices had forever removed the possibility that he might win the accolade through honorable deeds. He had forsaken honor, and he could never reclaim what he had thrown away.

She was among them again, embracing Grayson and Shandra in unabashed joy. He cried out when she threw her arms around him, unprepared for the surge of emotion that flowed though him at the touch. Recovering hastily, he sank to one knee and kissed her hand.

"Congratulations, my lady," he managed to choke out.

"On your feet, man," Grayson hissed in his ear, poking him painfully in the ribs. "Hold it together until we're out of here, at least. We've still got the arraignment to get through."

The Lady's hands were under his elbows, lifting him. He staggered to his feet. He felt one of her hands under his forearm, but she put her other arm around his waist, and steered him toward the nearest of the benches.

"May we have a moment, your grace?" Sir Grayson asked. "I fear that the ambush this morning has unsettled some of my squire's companions."

"Yes, yes," Lord Nasher agreed sullenly. "I'm sure Torio hasn't finished sharpening her talons, yet."

The Lady guided him to a bench and eased him down onto it, seating herself beside him and draping an arm around his shoulders. Shandra seated herself on his other side, though she did not touch him. Grayson knelt in front of him, taking the hand The Lady did not hold and peering intently at his face.

"What happened, Cas?" Grayson asked. "Talk to me."

"Forgive me," Casavir moaned. "I am well. I beg you, do not trouble yourselves on my account."

"It's a little late for that," Shandra said. "Cyric's balls, Cas, you're shaking like a mouse in a room full of cats. I've heard of stage fright before, but you aren't the one being made a squire."

Casavir groaned inwardly at the silence that followed Shandra's observation.

"I'm sorry, Cas," The Lady whispered. "I didn't know."

"I should have," Grayson sighed. "I shouldn't have pressured you to come. It's just that I didn't think you'd want to miss something so important to Kayla."

"No, you were right," Casavir said firmly, recovering. "I did not want to miss it. None of you are to blame for the choices I made. I am heartily ashamed of myself for the scene I have caused. Forgive me, my lady."

"It's all right, Cas," she said softly, stroking his hand. "I've been insensitive of your wishes, and I'm sorry. But we'll talk more about that later, all right?"

Casavir forced himself to smile.

"As you wish," he said. "Are you prepared to face your arraignment?"

"She has no choice," Sand explained. "We cannot begin the investigation until the formal charges are brought before her. The sooner we start, the sooner we can be out of Neverwinter."

"I think we're ready now, your grace," Grayson said in the direction of the dais.

"All right, then, clear out, you lot," Lord Nasher ordered. "I've a mind to use a little drama to underline our coup. You two, Casavir and Shandra, can watch from the gallery. Grayson, Cormick's waiting in the antechamber to serve as a 'prisoner's' escort. You, Sand, and Kayla should join him."

Casavir allowed Shandra to lead him to the gallery and stood silent while she selected seats for them. She was going out of her way to be kind to him, he knew, taking his arm and guiding him patiently when he hesitated or glanced back to watch The Lady move toward her place in the antechamber. Once they were seated, she, like The Lady, took his hand and put a comforting arm around his waist. Ordinarily, he did not appreciate being touched, but now, with his thoughts and emotions so turbulent, he was grateful for the touchstone of a sympathetic presence beside him.

So many of the dreams of his childhood were lost to him, now. He would never now become the knight he had imagined himself becoming, so long ago, but there were other, less lofty goals that were closed to him now, as well.

A paladin had two paths he might take throughout his life. He might become an itinerant crusader, serving his cause and his god, and his worldly masters. Such a course was honorable, more honorable, perhaps, than he deserved, but it was not the true desire of his heart. It was a lonely life. A man who followed such a path had no home, no purpose besides what others imposed on him. There was no place in that life for love or family. There was only duty, and whatever contentment he could find in the knowledge that he served a just cause.

It was ironic that he was bound to that course through the failed pursuit of the second path a paladin might take. Had he been wiser, had he not made the foolish, misguided choices he had made, he might have established his own household. He would have served his people, but they would have had faces, names. They would have looked to him for justice and for providence, and in delivering both, he would have served Tyr... and his own ambitions. Had that choice still been open to him, he might have known what it was to have a home. He would have been free to choose a wife, and one day, he might even have been blessed with a family. As a man of no inheritance and modest means, his estate would have been small, but that would have pleased him well. The wise governance of even a handful of people was an honorable charge, and one that would have given him infinitely more satisfaction than serving nameless strangers. But his soul would not profit from regrets.

He had chosen his path, even if it stemmed from his mistakes.

All was not misery, he reflected. He did serve a just cause, and his life had purpose. If it was not all that his childish imagination had wished for, it was not the pointless death it might have been, either. He had been spared the full consequences of the reckless actions of his youth, and he was obligated to repay that mercy with a life of dedicated service.

He returned to reality. He was not here to ponder his fate, he was here to witness the indictment of a woman who was closer to him than any other creature.

He watched in rapt attention as a tall, immodestly dressed woman strode into the throne room and approached the dais. So shockingly indecent was her attire, to his eyes, that he almost failed to notice the woman herself. Perhaps that was intentional. If so, Torio Claven was an incredibly dangerous woman.

"Lord Nasher," her harsh voice rang through the room, "I demand that you surrender the accused."

* * *

_Author's note: Daeghun's Daughter has made a gorgeous painting illustrating Kayla's vision in Solace Glade. Because I cannot seem to post links directly, please go to her profile, which has a link to her DeviantArt works__. I especially recommend "Knight in Tarnished Armor" and Gann._


	47. Pain and Promises

_Disclaimer: Obsidian owns everybody but Kayla and Sir Barret._

* * *

The arraignment went much as Kayla expected it would. Torio Claven had been furious that her plans for Kayla's rapid extradition had been thwarted, but the treaty was clear. Squires of Neverwinter would be tried in Neverwinter. Torio had not conceded the point gracefully, but she had little choice other than to accept it.

Torio herself had been a surprise, to Kayla. She had expected the woman to be older, and less flamboyant. Torio certainly did dress unconventionally. She appeared wearing an enormous white feathery collar that did not conceal her overflowing décolletage so much as accent it... and very little else. Her gown, if it could be called such, left her bare from her bust to her hips, and the slit up one side revealed one of her shapely legs completely. Kayla wondered how Casavir had managed to endure the sight of her.

Like her costume, Torio's manner was provocative. She issued demands with an insouciance that suggested that she was accustomed to instant obedience. She was a woman well used to getting what she wanted, and Kayla could almost understand Lord Nasher's delight in thwarting her.

After the arraignment, Sir Grayson would not allow them to return to the Sunken Flagon without joining his household for breakfast. Kayla was anxious to speak to Casavir, but she could not begin her relationship with her knight with disobedience.

Shandra and Sand had been excused, on the pretense of cleaning their gear in preparation of leaving the next morning. Sand hoped to intercept Khelgar before he started replacing the straps on their armor. He said he knew a cleaning cantrip that would remove the blood without leaving traces of pikeweed behind. Unlike Qara, Sand understood the value of both a well-rounded education and a diversified spell-book.

Casavir, however, was not excused from taking a meal with Sir Grayson and Sir Barret. Given Sir Barret's earlier reserve regarding Casavir, Kayla feared that Sir Grayson's lover might treat him coldly, and their initial meeting had been awkward. Sir Grayson hinted that Sir Barret would have to see her and Casavir as lovers to get over his objections, but Sir Grayson had been mistaken. As soon as Sir Barret observed that his lover treated Casavir as nothing more than an old friend, he was perfectly at ease. When they parted after the meal, Sir Barret embraced Casavir like a brother and declared him welcome any time he should chance by their door.

As pleasant as the visit had been, however, they had preparations to make... and a painful conversation to endure.

Casavir did not speak to her on the ride back to the Sunken Flagon, nor even look at her. She was grateful for the opportunity to study his face and his manner. He was troubled, she saw. It was not so much his facial expression, which was neutral, as usual, as his stillness.

When they arrived at the Flagon, Kayla first checked in with Khelgar and Sand. Sand's cleaning cantrip was working, so they might salvage their armor. That was a relief. It took days to get new straps properly adjusted.

She knew she must talk to Casavir, and soon, but now that the time was drawing close, she was having a hard time bringing herself to do it. Their present relationship was no good for either of them, but the thought of giving up even the pale shadow of intimacy they enjoyed pained her. It was as if she was keeping some small wild thing caged, feeding it barely enough to keep it alive, but not enough to thrive, and denying it the freedom to be happy. She might delight in its soft fur and the gentle cooing sound it made when she stroked it, but its imprisonment was cruel. Better she should endure the pain of separation than cage something that would only die if confined any longer.

"My lady?" Casavir asked softly. "Are you well?"

She sighed.

"Yes, dear one," she said sadly, "but we must talk, you and I... alone."

"As you wish, my lady," he agreed, though she could see his reluctance.

_"As you wish,"_ Kayla echoed silently. _How little my wishes figure in what I must say to you, love. But we can't go on like this. You cannot love me the way I want you to love me, so I must let you go._

He followed her to her room and sat at the table when she asked him to do so. She took the chair across from him and took his hands in hers. He flinched, but she held them tightly.

"Let me hold your hand one last time, Cas," she said quietly, "before I let you go."

* * *

Casavir followed The Lady up the stairs reluctantly. Their last private interview had been trying for both of them. He did not fear that she would renew her assault on his person, but the memory of it must be unpleasant for her, as well.

He cringed involuntarily at her touch.

"Let me hold your hand one last time, Cas," she said, "before I let you go."

He stared at her. Would she dismiss him for failing to protect her? Yes, in keeping to the custom of standing vigil alone, he had betrayed her, and he felt his guilt keenly, but he had not expected her to send him away.

His fingers closed convulsively around her hands.

"My lady," he pleaded, "I know I do not deserve to serve you any longer, after allowing you to come to such harm, but do not send me from your side, I beg you. I will not fail you again."

"Send you away?" she blinked. "Never! It's just that we need to talk."

Casavir allowed himself to relax. He could bear anything at all, as long as she did not dismiss him.

"Cas, I know this hasn't been easy for you," she said. "I've been trying to make you be something you aren't, and I'm very wrong for doing that."

"But I am your companion," he said, suddenly confused. "I serve you and I protect you. That is my role."

"I meant this," she said, stroking his hands briefly before returning to holding them quietly. The caress stirred him just enough to make her meaning clear. "Cas, dear heart, I know that... Cas, you are what you are. You do not want to be close to me... in body, but I have pressured you beyond what you should have to endure. I'm surprised you haven't left me of your own volition before now. You should not have to put up with being pawed or worse, just because you are desirable and because you are too chivalric to rebuke me. I know that in your heart, you do not desire me."

He sighed and hung his head. She understood, but she did not understand. He was not certain that he understood himself. He did desire her in his heart, just as his body craved her touch, but that was why he must refuse her. Yet now, when she all but begged him to unburden his soul to her, he could not. To admit what he felt when she touched him was to own those sentiments, and that, he could not do.

"My lady, what do you propose?" he breathed.

"Before I say it, I want to know what you feel," she answered.

"Confusion," he answered truthfully. "I cannot bear your touch, but I fear that if I reject you, you will send me away."

"I will never send you away, Casavir," she swore, though he could hear the pain in her voice. "I could not do without you, not now, not ever. Please, never think for a moment that you ever have to do anything to keep me from dismissing you, because it won't happen."

"That is a relief," he exhaled. "My lady, all that Grayson told you of my reserve is true. I have never been easy in female company, saving your own, and I fear that caresses unsettle me more than they please me."

"Then I was right," she said sadly. "Casavir, I can't be near you without wanting to touch you. I don't always intend to do it. The moment I see your face, I want to stroke it. When I see you sitting alone, I want to go to you and make you smile. I can't even hold your hand without wanting to cover it with kisses. I'm not as good at self-control as you are."

"So you will send me away," he groaned. "My lady, please reconsider. I will endure anything, as long as you do not send me from your side."

"You shouldn't have to, Cas," she said. "And I can't send you away. I really can't. Even if I thought I could survive a moment without your protection, I'd never be able to live without knowing you're there, even if I can't have you."

Casavir became aware that he was holding his breath. He let it out with a sigh. He had spoken his heart truly, when he said he would endure anything to remain with her. He would even bed her, if it kept her from dismissing him. He had no words to describe his relief at learning that sacrifice, at least, would be unnecessary.

"How do we resolve this?" he asked.

"I let you go," she said heavily. "I don't touch you anymore, obviously. I teach myself not to look at you. I don't know if I could bear not even speaking to you anymore, though it might be for the best if we limited our conversation to our quest. I start spending more time with my other companions. I don't want it to be this way, Cas, but if I let myself get close to you a little, I only want more, and that's the one thing you can't give me. It's hurting both of us, and I want the hurt to end."

"My lady, I still want your friendship," he said. Her words filled him with foreboding, though on the surface, they comforted him. Would this be like that miserable tenday, after Shandra's rescue from the Githyanki? That, he could not bear.

"You'll always have it," she reassured him. "It will just be a little... quieter than we're used to."

"Can we even go back, as close as we have become?" he asked. She was giving him everything he wanted. Why did it feel so much like desertion?

"I don't know, Cas," she sighed. "It won't be easy, for me, at least, but I know we have to try. I'm doing this for both of us, because I l- ... because I respect you, and I value the friendship we share."

"I, too, value our friendship," he answered, though it felt inadequate. He wanted to embrace her, to drive this idea that could not possibly work from her mind with a thousand kisses, but he could not. Once more, the paladin dueled with the man, and the paladin was stronger. He must put his desires aside, for the good of the group. She offered him a way out. He had no choice but to take it.

"Then we are agreed?" she asked earnestly. Casavir thought he saw something glitter in the corner of her eye.

"We are agreed," he said, his voice leaden.

"You'll have packing to do," she said, her voice choked.

"As will you," he agreed. "Shall I order that the horses be made ready for departure on the morrow?"

"Yes," she said. "But I'll need to talk to everybody, find out who's going this trip, apart from yourself and Sand... and Shandra, of course."

"You will bring Khelgar, certainly," Casavir insisted.

"If I left him here, he wouldn't stay," The Lady laughed. "Neeshka, either. I suppose I'll have to bring Bishop. We might need to track something."

"Is there no other who can serve you?" Casavir asked, feeling uneasy, once more.

"Do you know tracking?" she retorted.

"No, my lady," he admitted.

"Then we'll need Bishop. I'd really like to leave Qara behind. Do we dare?"

"Are you asking my approval?" he raised an eyebrow at the implications of her choice of "we."

"We're in this together, aren't we?" she asked lightly. "You handle strategy, remember? I'm just along to carry the gold."

"Had I my choice, we should leave Bishop," Casavir muttered.

"We need him," she insisted. "And he isn't that bad. Come on, Cas, admit it. You like putting him in his place."

"'His place' lies at the bottom of a deep ravine, after a drop of several thousand feet," he replied bitterly. "My lady, he has wronged you."

"And I have wronged you, Cas," she said gently. "If I can't forgive him, how can I ever hope you'll forgive me?"

"You are nothing like Bishop," he said hotly. "My lady, you are a creature of light and infinite kindness. His name is unfit to be spoken in the same breath as yours."

"And you still never say it," she answered. He had no reply.

"Come on, Cas," she said at last, "we'll just make it easier and take everybody. Does Sand have a horse of his own? I was a little too distracted this morning to notice."

"He does," Casavir responded, grateful for the change of subject, "a magnificent animal, though lightly built."

"Well, that's one expense spared," she sighed. "Cas, we're low on funds. I've enough to pay the groom, and to keep us for a month or so, but if we don't find work soon after the trial, I might just be delivering drinks at the Moonstone Mask, after all."

Casavir smiled in spite of himself. She spoke of life after the trial. She believed that she would win. He felt a quiet elation at that.

"The gods will provide," he replied confidently.

"They always do," she agreed, though Casavir thought he heard irony in her voice.

With that, they parted company, at least for a while. They had their separate preparations to make, and she declared her intention to rest as early as possible after dinner.

He watched her for the little that remained of the afternoon. She fixed her attention anywhere but on himself. It felt forced... unnatural. Perhaps time would inure him to the separation, but for the present, he found this new isolation worse than the momentary discomfort of too-intimate contact. He did not speak to her, true, and she did not touch him, but neither prevented him from wanting her.

_Be careful what you wish for,_ his conscience reminded him.

He left her then to pack, and to carry out her orders, but the old, familiar ache was stronger than ever. He had not realized that emptiness could hurt so much, but it did. He had said he needed to feel pain, and this was his chance.

He lay on his bed a while, before going down into the common room. His impotence in protecting her against the assassins still plagued him. When she needed him, he had not been there for her. He might promise never to fail her again, but did she believe him?

She was a compassionate creature, he knew. She never found fault with him, no matter how egregiously he strayed. She explained away his failings as if they were nothing, but must she really be that angelic? She couched her rejection of him in flattering terms, taking all the blame for herself, but might she not tell him a little lie, to spare his feelings?

He had failed her, and she knew it. Might not this new distance she placed between them be nothing more than an attempt to remove herself from the man who had proven so untrustworthy?

He asked questions of the ceiling, but the rafters were silent. If he wanted answers, he would have to wait.

* * *

The Sunken Flagon quieted early tonight. Warm though it was, and fair, the common room emptied long before midnight. Casavir had stayed longer than was his custom. Sand had brought a chessboard, and he and Casavir had played until the elf declared it long past the time Casavir should have been abed.

Casavir could not say what made him restless. The Lady had retired immediately after dinner, long before, and even Khelgar had gone to his room, determined drinker though he was. Of his companions, only Bishop remained, hunched over his tankard, not even bothering with his usual attempted seductions.

He felt a cool hand on his shoulder. Duncan pulled out the chair Sand had left and sat down, pushing a fresh tankard in front of Casavir and taking a long drink from his own.

"Who won?" he asked.

"The Luskans," Casavir replied wearily, not thinking.

"I thought the house was a little more crowded than usual," Duncan smiled wryly. "I hadn't heard they were any good at chess."

Casavir shook his head, finally understanding the question Duncan asked.

"Forgive me," he said. "Sand won more than I, tonight."

"Something's eating you, son," Duncan observed patiently. "Bend an old man's ear a while, see if it does you some good."

"They were waiting for her," Casavir said softly. "They knew she would be there, and they were ready. They left nothing to chance."

"You remember the wars, lad," Duncan sighed. "Neverwinter had more men, more gold, and we fought for our homes, and they still held the upper hand for most of the war. They'd have their positions while we were still ringin' the muster bells. You'll never get the better of the Luskans when it comes to spying."

"I know," Casavir groaned. "And now they want to kill her."

"You'll keep her safe," Duncan said with greater confidence than Casavir felt.

"Do you know where I was when it happened?" Casavir asked. "I was lighting candles in a temple. Her lifeblood was pouring onto the ground of Solace Glade, and I was lighting gods-damned candles."

"I'm glad you were," Duncan said loyally. "Might have been the only thing keeping her alive."

Casavir started to turn away, but Duncan grabbed his arm.

"Listen, son," he said, "I love my niece like a daughter, but I'm not stupid. If she's made up her mind to do something, you'll never steer her from it. Some men would just go ahead and do what they wanted anyway, and to the hells with what she wants, but you aren't like that. She says she's going to go, and go alone, and you'll kick yourself to Waterdeep and back, but you'll leave her to it, and pray for her all night into the bargain. Sure, you're goin' to have to learn which orders to obey and which to ignore, but you'll get there. The important thing is that you're doing it all for her."

"She wanted me to go with her," Casavir said. Duncan blinked, clearly revising his mental script.

"Er... yeah, but you knew that she had to go alone for it to count," Duncan rallied. "You're still looking out for her."

"Would Sir Grayson have minded if I stood watch outside the Glade?" Casavir asked. "I think not. I understand that you seek to alleviate my remorse, but nothing you say can absolve my guilt. I should have been there with her, been there for her, and I was not."

"Do you blame me for her mother's death?" Duncan asked.

"Certainly not," Casavir said quickly.

"Well, I'm more to blame in that than you are about Kayla getting hurt," Duncan said staunchly. "Kayla can take care of herself. It means a lot to me that you're bent on protectin' her, but... Damn it, Cas, I tried, but you're as thick as two short planks. All right, you made a mistake. You've beaten yourself up about it long enough. She still needs you, Cas, and you can't help her if you're wallowin' in guilt. So pull yourself together and get back to work."

"Yes, sir," Casavir said gratefully.

"I suppose she's safe enough here at the Flagon," Duncan went on, "but do you think you could see your way clear to looking out for her on the road?"

"I fully intend to do so," Casavir said firmly.

"Good man," Duncan patted his arm. "Any plans?"

"Apart from keeping Bishop as far away from her as possible, no," Casavir admitted. "I will protect her with my life, but I do not yet know the location of her foes... besides the one she brings with her."

"Yeah, I know," Duncan sighed. "I wish I'd never pushed him into helpin' her get Shandra back, but it's a little late for that, now. She's trying to _save_ him, like there's any chance of that."

"You are in earnest?" Casavir could hardly believe his ears. Could she really attempt something so ambitious? Surely, the ranger was lost to any hope of redemption... but she did believe in the goodness of others. That was but one of the things that drew him to her.

"You know her better than I do," Duncan shrugged. "You tell me. She'd try, though, and that's what scares me. She took in that tiefling, don't forget. Sure, it worked out well with Neeshka, because Neeshka's got a good heart, for all that her sire was a demon, but I know Bishop's heart, and it's black."

Casavir could only nod agreement.

"And that's the awkward part of what I'm going to ask you to do," Duncan went on. "I know how it goes on the road. You camp, you set up your tents, and she bundles up with Neesh or El or Shandra, and all is well. It's the inns I'm worried about."

"Sir?" If Duncan was suggesting what Casavir thought he was suggesting, that would indeed be awkward, especially in light of his conversation with her that afternoon.

"Inns are dangerous places because they feel safe," Duncan said. "You let your guard down, drink a little, and next morning, you've got a stranger in your bed and no idea how you spent the night. And that's if you aren't bringing an avowed bastard with you."

Casavir nodded again.

"Now don't get me wrong," Duncan said. "She'll sleep with who she wants to sleep with, and there isn't a lot a worried old uncle can say about it, but you know what Kayla's like... Don't look at me like that. I know she's a good girl. But she wants to save him, you see, and I'm worried that he'll take advantage of her good nature just to use her and leave her crying."

"And you feel that my presence would discourage him, in some way?" Casavir understood what Duncan was saying, but he asked the impossible.

"Well, no, not exactly, but it'll keep her too busy to bother with Bishop," Duncan reddened. "You don't strike me as the type that would take advantage of a girl's open and generous nature."

Casavir buried his face in his hands.

"We sit here and discuss the sleeping arrangements of a grown woman as if we have some control over her actions," he said at last.

"So, you're tellin' me to mind my own business?" Duncan blinked at him.

"No," Casavir replied. "I tell you only that I cannot deprive her of her own free will. I will honor your request, but she might refuse. If she will not allow me to share her room, I shall sleep outside her door."

"That's all I wanted to hear," Duncan grinned. "I knew you wouldn't let her down."

Casavir sighed, feeling miserable. He knew that Duncan did not intend any impropriety, but he could not help feeling that the man was asking him to seduce his niece. The assumption that paladins were safe was a gross oversimplification. While it was true that he would not abuse her trust, the cost to his self-control was staggering. And given their conversation that afternoon, how could he hope to obey her uncle without continuing to send her the conflicting signals neither of them could endure? He would find a way. There was always a way.

He smiled despite his misgivings. It was her part to be optimistic, not his. He was given to dark thoughts, while she lived in the confidence that tomorrow would be better than today. Whether she intended it or not, she was having a positive influence on him, if he could greet uncertainty with even some measure of her customary optimism.

It grew late indeed, past midnight, and he must rest. He bid Duncan good night and made his way toward the stair.

He paused in front of her door. She would be sleeping, he knew, but he wanted to see her one last time before they left. Their lives were changing, as was the relationship between them, but he wanted one last glimpse of her to carry him through what could only be a painful separation. In sleep, she would be innocent, vulnerable, and altogether lovely. He wanted to see her like that, even if he never did again.

For the first time since she had given him a key, he opened her door and went in uninvited.

He did not light the lamp, but there was no need. Her shutters were open, and the moonlight both illuminated and softened her features. She lay on her side, holding a pillow against her body, with one open hand beside her face.

He knelt beside her, memorizing her features. He would have drawn her thus, if he had the skill, but the memory would have to suffice.

He watched her breathe. She might have had no cares at all, so sweet was her repose.

He felt something tender stir in his soul, a gentleness he barely knew in his waking life. He wanted to lie down beside her and gather her into his arms, to shelter and protect until the world fell away, but he dared not. She slept lightly, he knew, and she would take his intrusion as a violation.

If he could not stay in body, he could leave her with at least a token of his presence. He took out his dagger and pressed the point against his fingertip until it pierced the skin. He watched his blood well up in the cut and held out his hand over hers, allowing one droplet to fall on her upturned palm.

"As long as blood flows in my veins, it will be yours," he breathed. "Kayla, my heart."

He watched as she closed slender fingers over his offering, then shuddered as she brought her hand to hold against her heart. Whether she knew it or not, she had accepted his gift. He felt more at peace with himself than he had since dawn, or for many dawns before.

He went to his bed more content than he had been for many, many nights.

* * *

Kayla woke before dawn, as was her custom. She felt strangely well-rested, especially given the events of the last two days.

She rose and put on her robe, striving to place the strange scent in her room. The smell of soap was nothing new, certainly. She liked to bathe every day, when she could, so her room usually smelled of soap, to varying degrees. There was also something musky and vaguely spicy about the fragrance, however. It reminded her strongly of Casavir, though that, of course, was impossible. He had been there the afternoon before, of course, but their visit had been too brief and too long ago for his scent to linger. Still, it was a reassuring presence in her room, even if it saddened her. He would never be hers, she knew, but perhaps he could still be part of her life.

He had been troubled when they parted. No doubt he feared that she would not keep her part of the bargain, or that she would dismiss him, after all, but time alone might ease those concerns. But she had been troubled, too, and the passage of time would not ease her pain. She wanted to be with him, to be his lover, his lady, the treasure of his heart. She had no illusions. She did not deserve him. He was still a paladin, and meant for greater things... or at least for things greater than the mortal love of a swamp cleric... but that did not prevent her from loving him, or from wanting him.

She was not the first woman to want something she could not have, and she would not be the last. It was not a pleasant experience, but she would survive it. She had many things to occupy her mind, even if they were not all as pleasant as embracing a kind, gentle, strong... no, she could not dwell on that, or she would weep again.

She could not have him, but she might still look on him, if she was very quiet.

She laughed. She did not even need to be all that quiet, as soundly as Casavir slept. She still had his key, so she might still satisfy her longing to see him one more time before she had to be distant from him.

She crept to his door, unlocking it with her key, then stole inside, closing the door behind herself.

Moonlight flooded the room and lit his pale skin with a luminous glow. In this light, she could not even see the scars. He lay on his belly, with his arms stretched out on either side and his face turned toward the door.

She sat on the edge of the bed, confident that he would not waken, even with movement so close nearby. For a moment, she feared that she had been too daring, but if he stirred, it was only to move his arm so that it encircled her hips. He muttered something sweet and incomprehensible in his sleep and drifted down once more into whatever blessed dreams he walked.

She hesitated. There were so many things she wished she could tell him. She had tried to tell him of her feelings for him the day before, but at the last moment, her courage left her. She needed his strength, but she also needed his humanity. She hoped that in giving him the relief from temptation that he needed, she would not lose that special glimpse of his soul that she treasured, but she feared that she must. But his needs must outweigh hers, when he gave her so much. She must content herself to look at him when there was no possibility that he would even know she was there.

As he had so many times before, he looked like a different man when he slept. His expression was open and unguarded. He might almost have been an innocent youth, as young as she. If his eyes opened, they would be full of trust. It would be hard, giving up this stolen moment, this glimpse of his bare soul, but she had no right to be here. But whether she had a right to be here or not, there was still one thing she needed to say to him.

She bent over him, taking care that her hair did not fall across him, and kissed his cheek. He stirred slightly, turning more onto one side so that his closed eyes faced her. She kissed his lips, and thought she felt an answer.

"I love you, Casavir," she whispered. He never heard her, she was sure, but she thought he smiled.

The first rays of the rising sun lit Casavir's window sill. According to her faith, a promise made at daybreak was binding. She sighed. Even if she wished to escape her feelings for him, she had little hope that she could. She might hide them, but by now, they were a part of her own soul.

"Be at peace, dear heart," she breathed, then left to make her own devotions, leaving him to his own dreams once more.


	48. The View from the Hook

_Disclaimer: Obsidian owns everybody but Kayla._

* * *

Kayla looked toward the horizon. She could just make out a medium-sized village, several miles ahead. It must be Port Llast. After four days, it was about time.

"Catch!" Bishop called, tossing Kayla his wineskin. She caught it deftly and drank deep before she noticed the look of disapproval Casavir shot her over her raised hands.

"I'm thirsty," she shrugged, though she felt a blush rise in her cheeks.

"We have water aplenty," Casavir reproached her.

"We'll be in Port Llast by nightfall, Cas," she said. "And then it's snug rooms and feather beds. Who cares if I drink a bit now?"

"Port Llast is no safe haven for you," Sand reminded her. "You have business there... unless you don't want to clear your name, of course."

"I still say you should have come away with me," Bishop laughed. "A year or two lying low, nobody would even remember what you were supposed to have done."

"You think I could tolerate your company for a whole year?" Kayla scowled, though she felt more playful about it than scornful. "You'd better think again, reprobate."

"Good point," Bishop sneered. "I'd be sick of you inside a month, even if you spread your legs for me every day."

Neeshka's snort of derision was almost enough to drown out Casavir's outraged... noise.

"Now, children, play nice," Sand drawled, sounding bored. Poor Sand. Casavir and Bishop had been at each others' throats for days, and Sand's patience was wearing a little thin. The elf got along well with Casavir, when they were alone, but Casavir was not himself in Bishop's presence.

Kayla was not sure she liked the man Casavir became when Bishop was around. They bickered like children, or worse. She wanted to believe that Casavir was a constant in her life, predictable and steadfast, and above the petty machinations of lesser men, but now, she was seeing a different side of him. He was becoming competitive, fierce, even. He hurled insults at Bishop with an eloquence she had seldom heard, and using language she was certain he never learned at the Hall of Justice. There were times that she feared they would fight. He frightened her.

"Where's the fun in that?" Bishop sneered. He gestured that Kayla should return the wineskin, but she just took another, deeper pull from it. If she drank it, it meant that Bishop could not, and with as unstable as Casavir was becoming, she did not want Bishop's inhibitions relaxed, whatever they might be.

He guided his horse over to her and seized the wineskin from her hands.

"Save some for me, Princess," he laughed. "I'll need to take the edge off a bit, or I'll never last. You don't want me ruining your fun by finishing too early, do you?"

"As if I'd bed you, drunk or sober!" she retorted, spurring her horse away from Bishop.

Laughing, he pursued her, grabbing at her.

Despite her progress over the last few months, she was still a terrible rider, and she had drunk enough wine to make her unsteady. His grope overbalanced her, and she fell from her saddle.

Still chortling, Bishop dismounted and straddled her on the ground, pinning her arms.

"Now isn't this just a pretty picture?" he leered. "The ranger overpowers the princess, and forces her to submit to his lascivious desires. Here's a tale for you, Grobar! I hope you're taking notes."

Bishop's weight was abruptly lifted from her. Casavir stood over her, holding Bishop by the neck of his leathers. He flung the ranger away from her and offered her his hand.

"My lady," he said sternly, "you would do well not to encourage him."

"He's all talk, Cas," she said, though she did accept his help in getting back on her horse. "He's playing at being tough."

"I think little of this game," Casavir snapped, swinging effortlessly up onto his own saddle. "And I fear you underestimate his malice... and his lust."

"Cyric's hairy ass, paladin," Bishop swore, "you really need to stop carrying your hammer around in your ass. You think I want that scrawny baggage?"

"That's enough, both of you," Kayla said firmly. "We're almost at Port Llast. Let's just ride in silence a while."

To her surprise, they did, but Neeshka pulled up along side her.

"You're taking chances, Kayla," Neeshka said, sounding worried.

"Bishop won't try anything," Kayla said wearily. "He talks, but that's all it is."

"It isn't Bishop I'm worried about," Neeshka whispered. "Have you looked in a mirror lately? Well, maybe that isn't the right word, but you're sinking to his level, and trust me, you don't want to go there. And you've got to see what it's doing to Cas. He isn't eating."

"What?" Kayla asked in alarm.

"Yeah, Khelgar made sausages for him this morning and everything, but he wouldn't touch it, and I know he got sick last night, after he saw Bishop brushing out your hair."

"That's crazy talk, Neesh," Kayla protested. "You know he was only doing it to get a rise out of Cas."

"Yeah, but it worked," Neeshka dropped her voice further. "I thought you cared about him."

"I do..." Kayla's voice faltered. "Neesh, you know I do. I care more about Cas than I do about anybody besides you and Khelgar, and in a way I don't feel about either of you, but we can't be lovers. He won't allow it. So what am I supposed to do? Ignore all of you and hang on to the hope that one day he'll wake up and decide he wants to be in love? If we're going to be 'just friends,' we've got to be just friends, and that means learning to live with attention from other men. All he has to do is say the word, and I'd be his, but he won't. He's just too stubborn."

"So you're going to kill him if he doesn't give in?" Neeshka retorted. "Come on, Kayla, throw him a bone. He can't live like this. It's tearing him up."

"If he wasn't so damned bull-headed..." Kayla began, then gave in. "No, Neeshka, you're right. I have been cruel to him, and I don't like what it's doing to him. I've got an idea, though. I can't just stop talking to Bishop because I think he might finally start contributing something to the group, but I can make sure that Casavir understands that I don't want Bishop, and I can make sure that he gets a good meal in him tonight. If we camp, it would be Sand's turn to cook, and you know how good a cook Sand is."

"It's better than nothing," Neeshka sighed. "Maybe you can do something special for him... I don't know, give him a backrub or something."

"Maybe..." Kayla was not sure that was such a good idea, right now, but Neeshka was right. She did have to do something to reassure him.

She rode over to Sand.

"We'll camp tonight," she said.

"We can see Port Llast from here, Kayla," Sand protested. "Don't you want to spend the night in a bed?"

"No, Sand," she disagreed, "I want Casavir and Bishop to stop fighting, and I want your help."

"What do you expect me to do?" Sand raised an eyebrow. The gesture was so much like Casavir's, it brought a lump to her throat.

"I want you to cook something really good," she said. "I know you can. We can resupply in Port Llast, so use whatever we've got that's fresh and tasty... and easy on the stomach. Cas hasn't been feeling well, lately, and he needs a good meal under his belt."

"Well, he won't get that in Port Llast," Sand conceded, responding to Kayla's implicit flattery. "But I don't see how a good meal is going to keep those two off each others' throats."

"I'll take care of the rest," she smiled, hoping it would work.

Predictably, there was a bit of grumbling about stopping within sight of Port Llast, but Kayla explained it away by saying that everyone they would want to talk to would be easier to find during the day. Elanee was happier camping than she would have been in a town, anyway, and Casavir, too, seemed pleased by the prospect, though Kayla did not understand that, as sleeping on the ground always gave him a backache. Still, the only serious dissenters were Khelgar and Qara, and neither one of them wanted to go on ahead alone.

Kayla didn't want to bother with tents tonight. The night was clear and warm, and rain was unlikely. So, they simply built a fire and spread out their bedrolls around it.

Casavir stared sullenly into the blaze, watching Sand cook with nothing more than idle interest. Kayla came up behind him and put her arms around his shoulders. He gasped, tensing, but then relaxed when he realized it was her.

"My lady, are you well?" he asked.

"I am, but you're not," she answered. "Come on, Cas, let me work out a couple of those knots for you."

"My lady... you know you should not," he reminded her.

"I'll work through your tunic, Cas," she reassured him. "Please, let me. You'll feel better."

"Very well," he agreed reluctantly.

She helped him get his breastplate and back plate off, but let him remove his gambeson himself. She expected him to lie down on his bedroll, but he just sat staring at the fire, with his arms around his knees.

"If that's the way you want it," she said lightly, laying her hands on his shoulders.

Neeshka had been right about his need for a massage. His shoulders and back were beyond tense.

"Do you have a headache, Cas?" she asked gently. "Your neck is tighter than I've ever felt it."

"It does not hinder me," he said dismissively.

"No, Cas, I know you're a trooper," she breathed, working her hands over his neck and scalp. "Now just relax and think about pleasant things for a while."

He made a sound almost like a sob, and pulled away from her abruptly.

"You toy with me, my lady," he said reproachfully.

"I don't, Cas," she said gently. She stopped even trying to caress him and seated herself beside him.

"I've been too cold to you, and I'm sorry," she said in a whisper, leaning in so her voice carried no further than his ears. "It isn't easy, Cas. I wish it was, but it isn't. I still think about you every moment of every day, but I know that I've got to keep my distance from you. There has to be a compromise, some way I can show you that I still care about you without making you uncomfortable, but damned if I can find it."

"You can start by not associating with Bishop," Casavir replied, perhaps more loudly than he intended. Sand, Elanee, and Khelgar turned to face them. She felt her face redden.

He got up and walked away, standing with his back to the fire. She ran after him.

"Cas, please," she begged him, "be reasonable. We need Bishop, and I can't afford to alienate him."

"He was lying on top of you!" Casavir all but shouted, then calmed. "And last night... you let him brush your hair."

"Cas, he was only doing it to annoy you," she sighed. "You can't let him rile you like that. It isn't good for you. You know I won't let him touch me."

"I... I know, my lady." He seemed to sink in on himself. "You are a virtuous woman, and your honor is untainted. But his soul is black. If he were to... impose himself on you, I fear that you would not call out."

"Why wouldn't I?" she blinked. "I don't want his paws on me."

"That was not what I saw last night," Casavir said sharply. "My lady, his sport is rough, and dangerous to you. And you have said yourself that you feel we need his help. I fear that if he assaulted you, you would submit rather than risk my wrath."

She sighed again. He was probably right. As sensitive as Casavir had been lately, he would almost certainly attack Bishop with lethal force, and she did not want Bishop's death on her conscience.

"He doesn't really want me, Cas," she said, trying a different approach. "He would probably not refuse me, if I made an offer, but he likes his women with a few more curves. He's playing with you, Casavir, not me, and you encourage him every time you lose your temper."

"This is no game, my lady," Casavir insisted. "He is in earnest, and he is an animal."

"You're right, Cas," she agreed. "He is an animal. He's a wolf. And wolves are like dogs. When they play, they snarl and they bite, but they cause no harm to each other. You don't need to fear him, Cas."

"A wolf is not a dog, my lady," he said. "He will turn on you, mark my words, and he will tear out your throat, if you do not protect yourself."

As if on cue, Karnwyr came over and nuzzled Kayla's hand. She scratched him behind the ears and crouched so she could ruffle the fur around his neck.

"Would Karnwyr bite me?" she asked Casavir.

Karnwyr chose that moment to lick her face. Casavir looked repulsed, but Kayla just lavished more affection on the animal.

"He's a loyal companion, Casavir," she said. "He is a wild creature, and he does not know right from wrong, but if he is treated kindly, he will become a trusting and trustworthy friend."

"Am I to blame if Bishop's wolf is a better man than he is?" Casavir retorted.

She sighed in exasperation, then tried one last thing that she thought might help.

"I can't talk to you, Casavir," she said, turning away. "If you don't trust me, there's nothing more I can say."

She started walking away from him, praying that he would follow.

"I do trust you, my lady," he stammered, grabbing at her hand. "I trust you and I believe in you, but..."

"Then come back to the fire with me, Cas," she said. "And pay no heed to anything Bishop says, because it's all nonsense. I'll serve you dinner, and you can teach me to play chess, and we'll have one more quiet evening before we go to Port Llast."

He sighed, but he smiled shyly at her before kissing her hand and releasing it.

"I will follow you, my lady," he said.

The first part of her plan worked admirably well. Casavir ate everything she put in front of him with apparent enjoyment and complimented Sand on a well-cooked meal. After he had eaten, he reclined by the fire and tried to teach Kayla to play chess. He was patient, as she knew he would be, but she just could not seem to learn the game. She was able to memorize the rules easily enough, but she had no talent at it, and rapidly grew bored. She tried to understand why Casavir loved the game so much, as he clearly did, but to her, it was worse than doing sums.

"Would you care to try again, or have you had enough for one night?" Casavir asked solicitously.

"I think that maybe I'm just not meant to play chess," she admitted.

"You just need more practice," he suggested hopefully.

"Did you enjoy it?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. "Thank you for playing with me."

"Thanks for teaching me," she replied, wishing that she could bring herself to like the game. "I'm sorry I'm not very good at it."

"You are learning," he said generously. He was lying, of course. Her last game was worse than her first, and all the concentration had given her a headache, but he looked happier than he had in days, so it was definitely worthwhile.

"Don't put the pieces away yet," Sand said from somewhere behind Casavir. "I wouldn't mind a game, if you're awake enough."

"I would be honored," Casavir smiled, setting up the pieces for another round.

Kayla yawned. Casavir could play chess all night, but she would rather just watch him at it... except that she could not. She had spent too much time in his company that evening, and she found herself forgetting that he would never be more than a friend.

She took herself off to the other side of the fire and sat down next to Neeshka and Khelgar.

"When does my watch start?" she asked.

"I gave El your shift tonight," Khelgar informed her. "You were having fun with Cas, and you've both been having a rough couple of days, so I figured you could use a night to relax. I gave his shift to Bishop, in case you wanted to... er, never mind."

"You trusted Bishop with watch duty?" Kayla's mouth fell open in surprise.

"Going to have to, sooner or later," Khelgar shrugged. "Might as well do it now, where we're relatively safe. How is he?"

"Better, I think," Kayla answered, sensing that Khelgar was asking about Casavir, not Bishop. "He just needed a good meal and a little peace and quiet."

"That isn't all he needs," Khelgar muttered. He looked like he was going to say more, but Neeshka elbowed him into silence.

"Where's Bishop?" Kayla asked.

"He was sleeping, last I saw him," Neeshka said, "but he doesn't seem to be there now. Must have gone off to pee. Why?"

"No reason," Kayla replied. "I just want to keep him away from Cas for a while."

"You'd be better off keeping Cas away from him," Khelgar grunted.

"Are you going to explain how that's different, or am I going to have to guess?"

"Cas is better company," Khelgar shrugged.

Kayla just stretched out on her blanket. It was not late, nor did she have to stand watch tonight, but she felt sleepy.

Khelgar and Neeshka played at Rock, Parchment, Shears for a while, but they, too, grew quiet. Opening her eyes, she saw they had gone back to their own bedrolls, presumably to rest before their own watches started. She rolled onto her belly and dozed.

Kayla was awakened by the touch of strong hands on her shoulders. She startled, but a smooth, soft voice urged her to go back to sleep. The voice was Bishop's, but the hands massaging her shoulders were gentle. Groggily, she closed her eyes again and enjoyed the feeling of tension leaving her body.

Bishop might be rough, most of the time, but he knew how to work tired muscles. After he finished with her shoulders, he moved down her back, easing the the strain of the last few days and the discomfort of spending too many nights on the ground. When he got to her legs, she started to protest, but he just muttered something soothing and kept rubbing. It did feel good, after four days of riding, so she just left him to it. If he wanted to do something that wasn't selfish, she was not about to stop him.

Gradually, she became aware that one of his hands was moving up her inner thigh, caressing rather than massaging. Again, she started to protest.

"Shh," Bishop whispered, "just enjoy it. You need a little pampering."

"Casavir..." she began.

"He's busy playing chess with Sand," Bishop murmured, "miles away. Just relax, and let me put a smile on your face."

"Why?" she whispered.

"Do I need a reason?" She could imagine his crooked smile, when he said that. "Go on. Who knows the next time I'll be feeling so generous."

She knew that she should not let him touch her. She did not hate him, but he was not Casavir. She should be saving her moans and sighs for the man she loved, not accepting the caress of his enemy, but... The truth was that it felt good. She might feel guilty about how much she was enjoying his touch, but she did not want him to stop. He caressed her through her leggings, but he knew what he was doing.

She was losing herself in the moment, but she was brought back to the present abruptly by an inarticulate cry of rage and the sound of a boot striking flesh.

She leapt to her feet, but it was too late. Casavir stood over her. Bishop lay on his back several feet away, holding a hand to his bloody cheek.

"NO!" she screamed, throwing herself between the men.

Pain exploded in her shoulder. Casavir's arms were around her, holding her up. For a moment, she saw his handsome face, still mottled with fury and shock, then he pushed her away, lunging for Bishop.

Once more, she tried to grapple him, but she could not move her arm. She clutched at him one-handed, pulling him away from Bishop. She tried to speak, to shout out for him to stop, but her voice just gurgled in her throat.

"What?" Casavir gasped, looking intently at her.

"Stop!" she wheezed. Her legs gave out.

"In Tyr's name, I'll make you pay for this!" Casavir snarled at Bishop, even as he sank down next to her.

Her mind raced, though she could barely move. Her back hurt, below her shoulder blade. She could not breathe. She coughed, spraying Casavir with blood.

"Oh, gods," he gasped.

His hands were on her back. She felt the scrape of something against her ribs. It was a sick sort of sensation, the feeling of something being pulled out of her body. She tried to cough again, but she could not draw enough breath.

Suddenly, she felt healing energy coursing through her, filling her with light and warmth. It was Casavir's spell, she knew, pulling her back from wherever she was going, whether unconsciousness or death. Another burst of light and warmth, and the pain was gone. When she opened her eyes, she saw that they sat on the ground. She sat in the space between his legs, with his limbs drawn up protectively around her while he worked his healing magic.

"You threw a knife at her!" Casavir accused Bishop.

"No," Bishop drawled, "I threw a knife at you. She just got in the way."

"I'll kill you, you thrice-damned whoreson!" Casavir snarled, trying to rise to challenge him.

"Oh, this is just the thing, Kayla," she heard Sand say, "he's _so_ much better now."

"No, Cas," she pleaded, ignoring Sand, "please, let me explain."

"There is nothing to explain," Casavir replied, though he lowered his voice while speaking to her. "I saw him touch you."

"So are you going to call off your dog, or do I have to tell him how much you liked it?" Bishop sneered.

"Cas, please, don't take the bait," she pleaded.

Suddenly, she felt sick. Bishop was not seeking to give her pleasure, he was deliberately goading Casavir, using her as bait. And she had played along, allowing Bishop to lure Casavir into a confrontation.

"What in the nine hells is going on here?" Khelgar bellowed, still trailing his blanket behind him.

"Nothing, Khelgar," Kayla said firmly. "Go back to sleep. And tell the others to quiet down, too. There's been enough yelling for one night.

"No, Khelgar," Casavir barked, his voice taking on the timbre of command. "Stay. There is justice to dispense. Your axe is required."

"Belay that order," Kayla asserted her own authority. "There will be no call for your axe. Go back to your bedroll, and keep the others away."

"I'll be going now," Bishop laughed.

"You, stay!" Kayla ordered, then watched with satisfaction as he seated himself on the ground facing her.

Too late, she realized that she was still sitting in Casavir's embrace. She would rather have had this conversation when she could give at least the illusion of impartiality, but it was too late for that. They needed to talk, and they needed to do it now.

"I've had enough," Kayla said. "This is no game. Our lives are in danger -"

"Your life is in danger," Bishop corrected her.

Kayla felt Casavir stir behind her, as if tensing to launch himself at Bishop again.

"Whatever," she said, putting her hand on Casavir's thigh and pushing him back to the ground. "The salient point is that if I die, Bishop, you're right back to leading fat nobles on hunting trips again. Do you want that?"

Bishop grumbled, but said nothing discernable.

"I didn't think so," she went on. "Now, the two of you seem to have gotten it into your heads that you something to prove. The only thing you're proving is that neither one of you has enough brains to come in out of the rain. This is not a wolf pack. There is no alpha male. The two of you are just going to have to get along."

"How can you say that, after what he did to you just now?" Casavir demanded.

"We'll talk about that later, Casavir," she said. "When we're done here, I need to have a word with you, alone, but there are a few more things I need to say to Bishop, in your presence."

"Like how you moaned when I rubbed your -"

"Like how I'm going to have you whipped from here to Neverwinter if you don't let that drop this moment," she snapped. "Bishop, I know what you're about. You're playing with Casavir, here, not me. If you want him, go after him yourself, but stop dragging me into it. Do I make myself clear?"

"What's the matter, Princess?" Bishop grinned. "Don't you want me anymore?"

"I never did," she retorted. "And you never wanted me, either. You're just using me to goad Casavir. Do you really want me to start speculating why?"

"Oh, no, Princess, I'm all man," Bishop laughed. "If you doubt it, come to my bedroll after you put his holiness to bed."

"You misunderstand me, Bishop," she replied calmly, "I just don't care."

"Don't tell me you aren't curious," he retorted. "I've seen you eying my leggings. Don't you want to see what has all the women gasping for more?"

"It's too late to play that card with me," she laughed. "I already saw it, and it's nothing special. Now get out of here. I've got to talk to Casavir."

"You're on my bed," Bishop said.

Kayla stood up and extended her hand to Casavir.

"Come on, Cas," she said. "We've got to talk."

He accepted her hand and let her pull him to his feet, then followed her a short distance away, out of earshot, but still within sight distance of the fire. She turned to face him.

"He won't stop, you know," she said calmly.

"I know," Casavir agreed bitterly. "I should kill him for what he did to you."

"He didn't do anything to me, Cas," she shook her head. "At least, he did nothing to make you attack him."

"He had his hand between your legs!" Casavir stammered.

"Yes, he did," she acknowledged, "but do you know why he did that?"

"He wanted to touch you," Casavir said, not meeting her eyes.

"No, Cas," she said gently. "If you touched a woman there, it would be because you wanted to touch her. You'd do it because you wanted to please her. He did it because he knew it would be the one thing that would drive you mad. He was just good enough at it so I wouldn't stop him before you noticed."

"You should not say these things," he said reproachfully.

"I need to say these things," she sighed. "You need to hear them. Cas, as long as you keep taking the bait, he's going to keep baiting his hook. Speaking as the worm in question, I'd really appreciate it if you could learn to control your righteous indignation."

"My lady, you are not bait!" he gasped. "If I had not intervened, he would have had his way with you."

"Would you move a piece without surveying the board?" she asked him soberly.

"Of course not, but what has that got to do with anything?"

"Neither would Bishop," she insisted. "I was lying on my blanket with your bedroll not twenty feet away, on the other side of the fire. If he really wanted to seduce me, he would have asked me to walk away with him. He wouldn't have groped me with you sitting right there. He was putting on a show for _you_, Cas, and you played right into his hands."

"What would he stand to gain?" Casavir sounded unconvinced. "He must know that I would never allow him to get away with it."

"Oh, he knows that, all right. He had a knife ready, Cas. He knew you'd attack. I was wrong, when I said you did not need to fear Bishop. He'd kill you if he got the chance. It's me who's safe. All I am is a way for him to get to you."

"If I kill him, we will both be safe," Casavir said softly.

"You could not do that, Casavir," she said, taking his hand. "You could not kill a man in cold blood."

"I have done that," he said, his voice dangerously quiet.

"I will not let you become a murderer," she said, her voice shaking. "You'd Fall, and you know you'd only turn yourself in, and then you'd be hanged, and I'd lose you. I can't do without you, Cas. I need you. And you swore you wouldn't leave me."

With no warning, he embraced her, cradling her head against his chest.

"I will never leave you," he whispered into her hair. "What must I do?"

"You need to be calm," she said, feeling relieved. "Bishop is not a patient man. If he does not get the result he wants, he will stop trying. Once he sees that you will not allow yourself to become enraged every time he does something inappropriate, he'll stop."

"I will try," he said, though she could hear his reluctance.

"Then you will succeed," she said, tightening her arms around him.

She felt his breath catch, and a shudder passed through his body. She sighed. For a moment, she had forgotten that she was not supposed to be holding him. She released him and stepped away.

"Neither one of us has watch tonight," she said, "but I'm not feeling particularly sleepy. I've still got a little wine left in my wineskin, if you'd care to keep me company for a while."

He swallowed audibly.

"I thank you, my lady, but I should retire," he said sadly, then looked at her earnestly. "My lady, would you help me put my mind at ease?"

"If I can."

"Allow me to place my bedroll beside yours," he asked softly. "I will sleep better knowing that you are safe."

"I am safe," she replied.

She felt guilty for refusing him, but she had already broken many of the rules they had agreed upon. She was certain that if he placed his bedroll beside her, she would be in his arms by morning. After everything that had passed between them, she did not think she could bear one more disappointment.

She took another step backward and folded her arms across her chest.

"It would comfort me," he said softly, closing the distance between them and placing one of his hands under each of her elbows.

"I couldn't bear it, Cas," she answered, on the verge of tears. "Please, Cas, don't make this harder than it already is."

"Forgive me, my lady," he sighed, dropping his arms to his sides. Turning, he walked away.


	49. Finding Leads, Finding Equilibrium

_Disclaimer: Obsidian owns everybody but Kayla and incidental NPCs._

* * *

They reached Port Llast around midmorning. It was not a large town, Casavir saw, but it was a vibrant one. The streets were packed with vendors selling their wares from carts, and with people surveying the merchandise. Many of these people must be travelers, he thought. There were not enough houses to shelter everyone he saw. Even the stables where they had lodged their horses were crowded with other beasts.

Casavir felt a moment of relief. If the streets were full of travelers, they must sleep somewhere. If the inn was full, they would be obliged to share rooms, if they were able to obtain them at all. If The Lady was forced to share a room with others, she would choose Neeshka and Shandra, and he would be spared the choice between disobeying Duncan and distressing The Lady...

No, he should own his faults. Duncan suggested that he protect her with his presence, but it was his own conscience he served, not Duncan's orders. He could have told her uncle no, that it was impossible, but he had not. He would still ask to share her room, if she planned on sleeping alone, but he would do so because he wanted to, not because Duncan ordered it. That little bit of honesty felt liberating.

Still, he would wait until he was sure it would be necessary before making that request of her. He had already vexed her enough for one day.

It had been an awkward morning, and it was his fault. He had refrained from placing his bedroll beside hers, but he had disobeyed her, all the same. He tried, but he could not calm himself enough to sleep while she was on the other side of the fire, so he gathered up his gear, packed up his bedroll and placed his pack beside her. He had spent the night using it as a backrest. He had awoken to a stiff neck, a sore back, and a very annoyed Dawnbringer.

He had tried to appease her by waiting on her attentively at breakfast and packing up her gear, but that just seemed to irritate her more. He could see that she was trying to be patient with him. She never raised her voice to him or told him off, but she sighed often, and it seemed that most of the tasks she would have him do were on the other side of camp.

He intended to ride beside her, to discourage Bishop's attention, but that, it seemed, was too much. She told him off then, all right, and bid him bring up the rear. At least that gave him the opportunity to watch her without incurring her anger.

He had been watching her a lot, today. She moved from merchant to merchant, asking questions, but also listening to the gossip of people on the street. He knew he should be paying attention, but he never heard what most of the people she talked to said. He consoled himself by telling himself that it was not his place to assemble her defense. Sand would look after that. His task was to ensure the safety of her person, and he could best do that by never taking his eyes off her.

He sighed. This was not as easy as he hoped it would be. He was certain that if she stopped tempting him, the turmoil he felt would be less, but it had grown, not receded. Now that she no longer touched him, he found himself living in the memory of the times she had. Worse, he found himself reaching out to her, touching her far more often than was necessary in the performance of his duty. He could not even serve her porridge at breakfast without stroking the hand that held her bowl.

She beckoned.

He went to her instantly, but it seemed that she did not want a private conversation, after all. Everyone else gathered close, as well.

"Everyone is talking about Ember, all right," she said, "but it's nothing we don't already know. Villagers slaughtered to the last man, animals cut down and left to rot, houses burned. Nothing that helps us. But the smith, Haljal, said that a local named Elgun is claiming to have been there, and to have made an attempt to drive off the attack."

"We'll have to pay this Elgun a visit," Sand said. "Anything else?"

"Haljal thinks he's lying," The Lady said. "He says that Elgun has no skill with weapons, and that the man is a coward, besides."

"An unlikely avenger," Casavir heard himself say.

"That's what I thought, too," she agreed. "He suggested that I talk to the garrison commander, Haeromos. I've been hearing that name a lot, so it's likely worth our time to investigate."

"Hmm, yes," Sand concurred. "And conveniently, the garrison is right there. Shall we?"

Haeromos proved a disappointment. It took all of The Lady's considerable powers of persuasion to convince him to allow her to interview the sole survivor of the attack. Indeed, the man's first inclination was to clap The Lady in irons at once. Fortunately, Shandra knew the survivor, a woman named Alaine. The Lady was unable to convince Alaine to recant her testimony entirely, but she was able to instill some doubt in her, at least. Casavir was pleased to see that she applied logic to the task, asking her how she could have failed to notice a tiefling or a dwarf among those that destroyed Ember. Casavir wondered why she had not asked Alaine how it might be possible that she, a Dawnbringer of Lathander, could have led such a heinous massacre, or how he, a paladin of Tyr, could have participated, but perhaps The Lady sought only to avoid confusion. Anyone might wear a holy symbol.

He shook his head. He was doing it again. She was gathering information that would save her life, and he was obsessing about trivialities.

Looking up, he noticed that he was alone, apart from Haeromos' men. He ran after her, but she was waiting outside. The others were clustered a short distance up the street.

"Cas," she said quietly, "I know you've got a lot on your mind, but you're miles away. I need you here."

"Yes, my lady," he muttered, mortified, "forgive me."

"Come on, now," she said, "we've still got half the town to cover before we can call it a day."

"Are you weary already, my lady?" he asked. "It is not yet midday."

"It's taking a lot out of me, Cas," she sighed. "I was exhausted before we even broke camp."

"I... my lady, is there nothing I can do to lighten your burden? May I carry your pack, perhaps?"

"Thank you, Cas," she said, unslinging her pack and handing it to him. "It's more my brain that's tired, but taking a load off my back helps, somehow."

He just smiled and fell into step beside her. By the time they reached the next corner, he had recovered enough from her well-justified rebuke to give her quest his full attention.

* * *

Kayla reflected on what they had learned so far. It did not take long. So far, they knew that Alaine would testify for Torio, but that her testimony might be compromised. Sand suggested that Kayla, too, might want to call Alaine as a witness. She was tempted, but Shandra was opposed to the idea. She did not want to antagonize Shandra, nor did she want to force Alaine to relive something as painful as what she had endured, but this was her life. She needed to think about it some more.

She hoped that she would find more witnesses. If all they had was Alaine, she would hang, for sure.

"Charms, my lady?" called a female voice to her right. "I've charms and potions for every need."

"I don't know if you've got a charm for what I need," Kayla muttered to herself, but the woman apparently heard her.

"Why don't you tell me what you need, and I'll tell you if I can help?" the woman suggested. She was tall and slim, with an elegant bearing that suggested that Port Llast was not the pinnacle of her ambition. Her eyes, though, were wise and kind.

"My name is Kayla of Lathander," she said flatly. "Does that mean anything to you?"

"It means that you need more than charms and potions," the woman said frankly. "I am Nya. You are a cleric of the Morning Lord, are you not?"

"I am," Kayla acknowledged.

"Then perhaps we may help each other," Nya said. "You must go to Ember. The accusations against you demand that you see firsthand the crimes of which you have been accused."

"Then you don't think I did it," Kayla blinked.

"I withhold judgment," Nya shrugged. "Yet I would be surprised to learn that a Dawnbringer could visit such horrors upon innocents."

Kayla nodded. Nya, at least, appeared to be an intelligent woman, and too rational to be swept away in the vigilante spirit that infected Haeromos and his men.

"Very true," Kayla said. "You spoke of help?"

"You will learn much in Ember, I deem," Nya said, "more, perhaps than I foresee. Advice is the aid I would give you: go to Ember, and let nothing escape your notice, because you may find clues in the most unlikely places. In return, I would ask you to perform one small service for me. As a servant of Lathander, I would not expect you to object."

"I'm listening," Kayla said. She heard Casavir shift behind her, then saw him circle around Nya. Ostensibly, he examined the charms arranged on the shelves of her market stall, but she noticed that he kept his hand on his weapon. Did he really think that she had anything to fear from a peddler who, to all outward appearances, did not seem in the least bit hostile? Still, Casavir would be Casavir. She supposed she should be thankful that he was taking an interest in the world outside his mind, for however long it lasted.

"I would like you to sprinkle wyrmsage on any bodies you might find," Nya said. "Do you know the herb?"

"It prevents the dead from rising as zombies," Kayla said, taken aback by the suggestion. "Does Ember have an undead problem?"

"It may," Nya sighed. "You will find that the villagers suffered grisly deaths. Under those circumstances, it is possible that they will rise again as undead."

"I see," Kayla nodded. Lathandrites abhorred the undead, and Kayla was no exception, yet a violent death was not usually enough to bind a soul to a body, or for the corpse to spontaneously reanimate. There had to be a curse, or some kind of necromancy at work. "Is there more that you aren't telling me? Have any priests of Velsharoon been sighted in the vicinity?"

"No... but..." Nya's voice faltered. "I fear for them, after what they suffered."

Kayla sighed. She had seen this before. Often times, priests would be called upon to aid the dead or dying, when it was really the living that needed healing. They asked for intervention for their loved ones, but really, they just needed to see that somebody was doing something for them, even if it could not possibly help them. Like any good priest of a benevolent deity, she accepted this duty. The living were her charge, and if she could bring Nya peace by doing what she asked, she was happy to oblige. Casavir might object to the deception, but she had no qualms about it. If it helped the living accept the passage of those moving on to another stage of the Great Cycle, she had done her part.

"I understand," she said. "And I will do as you ask. But if I may ask, how did you learn so much about the ways of undeath? I can see by your stock that you trade only in blessings, not curses."

Nya drew close, then, and placed her hand on her arm. Kayla took it in her own. She noticed that Casavir, too, moved closer to Nya.

"I loved a man once," Nya said, her voice barely a whisper, "a priest of Kelemvor. He taught me to revile the undead, and the ways of combating them."

"And he is here no longer?" Kayla prompted gently.

"He left some months ago," Nya said, "more than a year, now. I hope that by carrying out his work, he will hear of it and remember me, and realize that he has a helpmate."

"I understand," Kayla said gently. She risked a glance at Casavir, but his expression was icy, so she looked at Nya again. "Have you had no word?"

"None," Nya admitted, "though I have written to him many times, and asked for news from his temple superiors. I have heard nothing. I hoped..."

"You shall not hear from him," Casavir said suddenly. "He has a duty to perform, and he will not forsake it."

"Cas!" Kayla gasped, alarmed that he should be so blunt. She looked at him again. His face was grim, his lips set in a rigid line.

"It's all right," Nya sighed. "There never was much hope. Only a fool's hope."

"Love makes fools of us all," Casavir muttered, turning away.

"Cas, why don't you wait over by Shandra?" Kayla said quickly, before Casavir could say anything else that might dishearten Nya. "I'll be along in a moment."

She heard him sigh, but he obeyed her.

"Please forgive my friend," she said when Casavir was gone. "He isn't usually this rude."

"He sounded like he was in pain," Nya observed.

Kayla sighed.

"If he is," Kayla shook her head, "it is a pain of his own choosing. But don't let him trouble you, Nya. He doesn't know what he's talking about, and it has nothing to do with you, in any case. I want to help you."

"Then take this bag of wyrmsage," she smiled, "and my thanks, as well. Until we meet again."

"Farewell, Nya," Kayla said, accepting the bag. "I'll return to you once I've done as you ask."

The women shook hands and Kayla returned to Casavir. She grabbed the side of his surcoat and propelled him a short distance away. They were still within earshot of the rest of the group, but she did not really care, as long as Nya could not hear them.

"Do you want to tell me why you felt it necessary to offend the only person in Port Llast who knew who I was and still didn't treat me like a murderer?"

"I wished to spare her the pain of knowing that she hoped in vain," Casavir replied, his face infuriatingly calm. "She has a generous heart, and I would not wish to see it grieved."

"It's a little late for that, Cas," Kayla said, letting a little of her irritation show in her voice. "You don't know the man, but you practically told her to her face that he'd have to be a fool to come back to her."

"You twist my words, my lady," Casavir protested. "I told her only that she would not hear from him, and I sought to reassure her that his absence was due to his devotion to his duty, not to any lack in herself."

"You left the last part out," she scowled. "All you said to her was that he wasn't coming back, and that loving her was the same as forsaking his duty."

He sighed, and began to turn away.

"Oh, no you don't!" Kayla retorted, catching at his arm. "You were cruel to her, and you don't even have a reason. You don't know her, and you don't know him."

Casavir did not walk away, but he kept his back to her.

"I do know him," he said softly, though his voice held no emotion. "I know him well, though we have never met. He serves his faith with the same devotion I serve mine. He is never coming back."

"You don't know that," Kayla persisted. "He might not have gotten her letters. He might not know how much she loves him."

"If he did, it would not avail her," he went on in that same dead voice. "It was not ignorance of her feelings for him that drove him away, and should he learn of them, he still will not come back. He is lost to her forever."

"So what did drive him away, since you know so much?"

"A man cannot serve two masters," Casavir's voice dropped almost beyond hearing. "Driven half-mad by the strain, he must choose between the demands of his faith and the demands of his lover. He took the harder road, though it better served his soul. It was a noble sacrifice, and he shall be rewarded."

"You're wrong, Casavir," Kayla snapped. "If he really did behave as you seem to think he did, though I think it unlikely, then he was a coward, not a martyr. You forget who you're talking to. I'm a cleric, Casavir, so I hope you will allow that I know how to serve my god. A man owes his soul to his god, but his worldly love is his own to give where he will. The gods don't want it. They don't need it. What would Lathander do with the love I would give to a lover or a husband? What would Tyr do with yours?"

"I knew you would not understand," he sighed.

"You're right, Casavir," she said angrily. "I don't understand because you make no sense."

He started to walk away, but he stopped, his shoulders shaking almost imperceptibly. She felt her anger drain away, but she did not welcome the cold comfort that replaced it.

While Casavir spoke, she felt that he was making a confession to her, but no, it could not be. By his own admission, if he loved her, he would have no choice but to leave her. He had not left, nor threatened to leave, so he must not be speaking of his own feelings. She, however, had said far more than she wanted to say.

"Go on, Cas," she said, trying to make her voice sound normal. "We've really got no business prying into Nya's personal life, and we really do have better things to do than gossip."

"Yes, my lady," he agreed with obvious relief.

She shook her head as she watched him walk away, then walked over to Sand. His apparent surprise at her approach was too overdone to be sincere, but she was grateful for the ruse. She hoped everyone else would at least pretend to ignore the words she and Casavir had exchanged.

"I think we've got just about everybody," she said. "Can we call it a day?"

"Yes, I think that might be wise," Sand agreed, "and we might carry on our inquiry at the inn. Eglun will be there, of course, but there may be others we wish to question."

* * *

Inside the inn, Casavir listened intently as The Lady questioned Elgun. At first, the man maintained that he had been in the vicinity hunting deer, and had fought the demons who accompanied The Lady bravely before he was overcome and forced to flee for his life, but his story rapidly fell apart. The ranger Malin had informed them that there were no deer, so Elgun could not have been led to the area chasing a herd, as he claimed, and the smith Haljal had thought little of his skill with a knife. Elgun's audience had agreed with both of these points, so he had little hope of persuading his listeners that Alaine's claim that she had seen no living person escape Ember might be false. At last, the man admitted he was lying, that he had invented his tale for no reason more noble than the attention he received in telling it.

Casavir turned away, intending to find a quiet table where he might pass the rest of the afternoon, but his gaze fell on the ranger Malin. He remembered that she had looked at Bishop while she spoke to them, and it had piqued his curiosity. While The Lady conducted her inquires, he must focus his attention there, but with that accomplished, he might pursue his own interests.

"My lady?" he greeted her. "Might I speak with you?"

"Sure," she smiled, "as long as you keep _him_ away, that is."

He felt her eyes light on his face, then sweep over his body with too-open appreciation. She gestured to a seat beside her. He swallowed nervously, but he took the offered chair.

"Never fear, my lady -"

"Malin, please," she breathed, placing her hand on his armored thigh.

"Never fear, Malin," he repeated, though he felt himself redden, "I bear no love for the man, and do not desire his company any more than he desires mine."

"In that case, stay as long as you like," she said huskily. Her hand moved slowly up his thigh. He caught it in his own hand and raised it formally to his lips before placing it on the table.

She laughed, and took to tracing the tendons that ran along the back of his hand, instead.

"Do you know Bishop?" he asked bluntly.

To his relief, she halted her caress. Her touch did not rouse him, but her behavior baffled him.

"I know him," she said, taking her hand away from his and looking at him candidly. "And if I catch him alone, he'll have a lot to answer for."

"Has he wronged you in some way, Malin?" he asked eagerly. If he were avenging crimes Bishop committed upon Malin, he might remove Bishop without invoking The Lady's wrath.

"You might say that," Malin snorted. "He put me in prison."

"My lady?" Casavir blinked, taken aback.

"Yeah," she explained, "for his crimes. It was down the coast a ways, during the wars. We were scouts at the time, but we also carried messages. We were spotted by Neverwinter forces, and they were hailing us. I didn't understand why Bishop wanted to run, not just talk to them and move on, but he did, and fast. I asked him why, and he just said 'Stay if you want, but I'm getting out of this' and took off. Next thing I know, they're searching my pack and I've got a load of some choice imports that I know I never put there. I said I didn't know how all that black lotus got there, but nobody cared, and I lost three years of my life. It might have been more, or they might have even killed me, but the Tyrian priest didn't think I did it. Nasher wanted me locked up as an 'example to others', but it could have been a lot worse."

"I am sorry for the injustice you suffered," Casavir stammered, horrified by the tale she told. He believed every word. She had no reason to lie.

"Sorry about letting loose on you like that," Malin said, blushing. "I mean, I probably shouldn't burden a stranger with my troubles... but... er... well, I thought you might understand."

"Indeed, my lady, I hardly thought I could think less of him than I did before, but your tale provokes my sympathies. Should you wish to challenge him..."

"Thanks, if you're offering to run him through," Malin smiled a crooked smile, "but I'd rather do it myself, when he's all by himself, and... Who am I fooling? He's just too damn good at what he does. I'd never manage to kill him, and I'd just get myself killed trying. Thanks... er... I'm sorry. I don't even know your name."

"Casavir of Tyr," he supplied.

"A paladin, huh?" she raised an eyebrow, and a little of her earlier ardor returned. "No wonder I thought I could trust you. Are you here alone?"

"I travel in company," Casavir replied, puzzled. She knew he did, or she would not have asked him whether he was a friend of Bishop's.

"Is your lady present?" she asked more frankly.

"I have none," he answered, regretting his honesty almost instantly, when her hand took up its former place on his thigh.

"Would you like one?" she whispered throatily, leaning in so that her lips brushed his ear. "At least for a little while?"

"Don't waste your time, Malin," a familiar and very unwelcome voice sneered. "All that holiness has shriveled his prick, and you won't like that one bit."

"Drop dead, Bishop," Malin retorted, sliding her hand even further up his thigh. He jumped involuntarily when her hand brushed his manhood. She smiled wickedly.

"'Sides," she drawled, "from the feel of things, he's twice the man you ever were."

This was beyond Casavir's endurance. He stood abruptly, knocking over his chair in his haste to get away from her.

"My lady!" he protested.

"You really will fuck anything," Bishop snorted at the same time.

"My tastes have improved," Malin retorted. "You'd never catch me slumming with a pig like you again."

"A pity," Bishop laughed evilly, "you were always so open-minded. You'd take it anytime, wouldn't you? And anywhere... and in any way... what fun we used to have. Still, there's no use weeping over me now. I couldn't bring myself to plug your hole again, not after you've had your hand on that-"

"That's enough, Bishop!" Casavir snapped, at the same time as The Lady ordered him to silence.

"Better be careful, Princess," Bishop leered. "It looks like your pet dog is begging at other tables tonight."

"Never mind Casavir, ranger," The Lady reprimanded Bishop. "You two leave each other alone, and that's an order."

"Well, that tears it," Bishop laughed. "I tried to save you, Malin, but you heard her ladyship. Nothing but a suit of plates standing between you and the worst lay you'll ever have."

"Oh, I don't believe that for a moment," Malin said dismissively, rising so she could run her fingertips down Casavir's cheek.

"You should," he replied, his own voice nothing more than a whisper. Grimly, he had to admit that he meant it. He did not have much experience with women, but the little that he did have would allow him to make no boasts.

She was standing even closer to him now, close enough to stroke any part of him she chose.

"My lady, pray forgive me," he said quickly, stepping out of her reach, "I must see to our accommodations."

He fled.

He found The Lady speaking to the proprietor, already engaged in finding them rooms.

"We've plenty to spare, despite the crowds," the man said. "We've forty rooms, here at the Cracked Anvil."

"I'll have ten, if you please," The Lady replied.

"Surely, my lady, we will not need so many!" Casavir protested. "Had you not rather share with Shandra tonight? Or Neeshka? And I should prefer to share a room with Bishop, to ensure he causes no trouble with the other guests."

"Ten," she repeated firmly. "I want my own room tonight, Cas. For one night, I want a bed to myself, and you're out of your tiny little mind if you think I'm letting you and Bishop alone, unsupervised. Besides, you might like some time alone with a ranger whose company you might enjoy more."

"My lady... no," Casavir gasped. "You must know that I do not enjoy attention of that sort."

"The worst part is that I do," she sighed.

The landlord had finished marking his register, and accepting her payment. Casavir watched him count out ten keys. His heart sank. Her independence compelled him to ask to share her room. Yet how could he do so, with the unfortunate incident with Malin so fresh in her mind?

He accepted his key without another word, and watched her pass out the remainder. As soon as Bishop had his in hand, the ranger went over to talk to Calindra, a trader they had spoken to earlier. The woman had asked them to find her missing partner, an orange-haired man by the name of Bradbury, but Casavir doubted that Bishop sought her out for that reason. His suspicions were borne out a moment later, when the woman slapped Bishop and fled to the other side of the room. Apparently undeterred, Bishop turned his attention to a buxom, yellow-haired dancer. Casavir watched in idle curiosity as, by flattery and the flashing of a few coins on Bishop's part, the woman was persuaded to smile, and to whisper something in Bishop's ear. The ranger walked away, looking smug. Perhaps Bishop's lust might be put to good use, after all. If Bishop spent the night with a dancer, Casavir might be spared the necessity of risking further offense to The Lady.

Regardless, it was an unseasonably warm night, even for Eleasis, and his gambeson was stifling. He asked the porter to have a bath sent to his room—no need to heat the water, thank you—and went up to make himself comfortable.

It was no use. A bath was well and good, but he needed more solace than even a tub full of cold water could provide. He knelt and turned his thoughts to prayer.

He was in turmoil, but he still had his faith. It had seen him through worse. Much worse.

He had been young then, and so very foolish. He allowed his passions to rule him, and in following his heart, he had nearly damned his soul. Yet he had not Fallen. Tyr had not abandoned him. When he put worldly passion behind him forever, his life had been restored to him, so that he might atone. Justice had delivered him, tempered by no small amount of mercy, and in following the ways of the just, he had found some measure of happiness.

His life was not misery. Far from it. He had friends again, as he had before he sinned. He was no longer alone.

When at first he learned that he would be spared, he felt that his life must contain but a single purpose, to atone for the crimes that had imperiled his soul. For a long time, years, his worldly existence contained nothing else. Spiritually, he had his faith, and Tyr was all the solace he ever needed, but he had no mortal companion, no friend to cheer him or to drive away his dark thoughts.

Then, that wondrous day in Old Owl Well, that had begun no different from any of the hundreds of days before, his life changed. It was a small thing, at first, his need to serve a vulnerable creature who woke memories in him of light and warmth, but it was but the herald of other changes. Over the next few months, his heart began to beat again. When he rose in the morning, he looked forward to the coming day with boyish optimism, and when he lay down to sleep at night, he no longer lamented that he had not yet managed to secure his soul's release. He thought about the future, about a time when torment and pain might be left behind forever, and imagined that he might be alive to see it.

Even his present torment was an improvement over his previous life. Before he met her, he had become cold. Were it not for his conscience and his faith, he would have been nothing more than a golem. He felt nothing, and no one cared. Now, he felt things. He cared about his friends. Their troubles and their joys worried him and cheered him. He felt alive as he had not in eleven years.

If he had come this far, how much further might he come?

He sat back on his heels, breathless at the thoughts that filled his mind... himself, regenerated, reborn, even, living a life as full and as rich as that of a man who had never sinned, with every hope, every dream, within his reach.

No, that was too wild a fantasy, even for him. He had done nothing to earn such a gift. He had no right to expect any more than he had already attained. It was a good life, for all that certain elements of it still troubled him, at times.

And what of his troubles? The most frightful demon that worried at him was his own lust. If that was as bad as it got, he was a lucky man. He nearly laughed at the absurdity of it, but checked himself. It was easy enough to dismiss his libido as inconsequential now, with no temptation in sight or mind, but in certain company, those urges were impossible to ignore, and nearly so to control. No, that danger was real.

Nevertheless, he was a man grown, and he had lived in chastity nearly all of his life. If he could master himself at eighteen against the temptations of youth, he could do so at one and thirty, when his body was calmer. And the desires themselves were not evil, only what they might lead him to do.

Once more, he thought about the crime that led to his failure. Out of love of a woman, he had killed a man. Now that time and experience had granted him some wisdom, he understood that the act had not been quite as evil as he thought, at the time. The court that tried him had been wiser than he. Yes, perhaps in some part, he killed the man to rid himself of a rival, but he had also acted to protect the honor and interests of a woman and a child doomed never to be born, though he had not known that then, either. He had challenged the man in good faith, according to the laws of Neverwinter and Tyr. It was nothing less than arrogance to imagine that his own conscience was more just than the laws of his god.

That realization brought him a surge of relief so intense he could hardly breathe. He could be forgiven for arrogance, if he repented and mended his ways. He _had_ been forgiven for his youthful arrogance. Despite his temporary discomfort, he was happy. What was his present happiness, if not proof that he was forgiven?

He would do well to think more on his present joy. His life had purpose beyond the quest for martyrdom. He had friends. People cared about him. A young, virtuous woman called him "dear one." For all that he still faced challenges, he never dreamed he would ever be so fortunate, those years in exile. By concentrating on the good in his mortal life, perhaps he might find the contentment he had in his spiritual one.

The arrival of his bath put an end to his musings, but his goal was accomplished. He was calmer, now, and more hopeful than he had been in a long, long time.

Half a candle later, he returned to the common room, dressed in fresh clothing, though he had omitted the shirt he usually wore under his tunic in the heat. He had been gone long, more than a candle, at least. He was distressed to see that The Lady had opted to forgo her armor, as well. It was well and good for him to leave it off, but she faced perils that did not threaten him. Still, he was there to protect her, so perhaps he would refrain from voicing his concerns.

Khelgar pressed Casavir to drink with him, but for a while, Casavir resisted. Until he was certain that The Lady was safe for the night, he dared not cloud his wits with ale. She, too, did not partake freely, though Shandra, who sat beside her, was well on her way to oblivion.

"I'm going out," Neeshka said suddenly.

"Careful, Neesh," The Lady warned her. "Remember the guards outside the inn. I don't think they'll start anything, after the little talk we had, but if they catch you, I don't think you'll be able to charm your way out of trouble."

"They won't catch me," Neeshka laughed. "I can avoid being seen when I want."

"So you can," The Lady agreed, visibly relaxing. "But be careful anyway, all right?"

"I always am," the tiefling reassured her. "And I'll even split my take."

"I don't want to know how much you're getting," The Lady protested.

"I never said I'd split it evenly!" the little thief giggled.

"Oh, that's just great," The Lady rolled her eyes. "Now you'll have me wondering if you're giving me too much or if you're robbing the town blind. Go on, if you're going to, and don't let me hear about the details."

Casavir felt a pang when Neeshka kissed The Lady's cheek in parting, but he disguised his discomfort by taking a pull from his tankard. He took too big a gulp, however, and lost the next several moments choking.

"Won't you ever learn?" Khelgar grumbled. "You'd make a fine dwarf, if only you'd learn to drink proper."

"I fear that I surpass the height requirement," Casavir said, once he had recovered.

"It's a state of mind," Khelgar insisted. "You've got your head on straight, for the most part, and you understand about oaths and loyalty, so you're halfway there, but if you don't learn to hold your drink, there's no help for it."

"I think you'd make a charming dwarf," The Lady said sleepily, then smiled up at him before drawing her chair closer and laying her head on his shoulder. Casavir was baffled, but pleased.

"Y'see? Even Lala agrees," Khelgar beamed. "You just gotta work on your quaffing. First off, if your clan brother passes you a drink, you gotta take it, even if you're about to fall over. Nobody cares if you pass out, but refuse heart-felt generosity, and you're no better than a human... er... no offense."

At that moment, Casavir spied the dancer moving toward the stair, with Bishop lurching not far behind. A weight lifted from him just as Khelgar pressed his tankard into Casavir's hand. Now that Bishop was safely occupied, why must he refrain from enjoying Khelgar's fraternal attention?

"Drink with me, shield brother!" Khelgar bellowed.

"Gladly!" Casavir responded, and drank gratefully.

"There, now, that wasn't so hard," Khelgar approved. "Now give it back, and pretend I'm somebody important."

"You are somebody important," Casavir heard himself say. "You are her captain."

"That'll do, for a start," Khelgar winked. "Now, let's give it a go. Will you drink from my cup, and call me your cousin?"

"I will, valiant captain," Casavir said expansively. "And your burdens shall be my burdens, in the bond of our kinship."

"Well spoken," Khelgar approved. "But you probably should have taken a bigger sip, unless it's firewhiskey. Sobriety cuts no ice. When you make an oath like that, we'll take it as binding, and the size of the oath must equal the size of the gulp. Take too little, and you'll be read as false. This is probably a good time to tell you about bragging."

"Bragging, Khelgar?" Casavir asked, somewhat blearily.

"Yeah, it's expected," Khelgar admitted. "Promise big things, because it's nothing more or less than the heroism every dwarf carries in his soul, but you'd best deliver, or die trying. The higher you go, the bigger oaths you need to make, and the drunker you'll be when you make them. But drunk or sober, you live by your word. Go back on it, and no dwarf will know you."

"I would never make a promise I would not keep, drunk or sober," Casavir vowed.

"I know it, lad," Khelgar rumbled kindly, passing him his tankard again. "And that's why I think you shoulda been born a dwarf. Even Khulmar saw it, or he'd have never given you the clan horn as freely as he did, or with his words of kinship. He gave it to you personally, and addressed you by name. Yeah, he had to give it to everybody, because withholding hospitality is the worst of all sins, apart from oath-breaking, but he called you by name, in a voice that could be heard by all the clan there present, and that means something. If he didn't think it meant something to you, or that you were worthy of it, he would have just handed it off without a mumble, like he did with Qara."

"And she refused," Casavir remembered.

"Yeah, I had to do a lot of fast talking about that one," Khelgar rolled his eyes. "The shame of it! Anyway, you'll be all right. How are you holding up?"

"Not well," Casavir admitted, suppressing a hiccup. He had downed the best part of a tankard in less than a quarter candle, and he was ill-accustomed to drink. Still, he had his friends about him, and The Lady sat dozing beside him. She had burrowed her way under his arm, and now rested her cheek against his chest, with his arm about her shoulders. He might be a little unsteady, but he was well-contented.

"Now that's a pity," Khelgar grumbled. "It isn't like we stay at inns long enough to build up a tolerance, if you've no natural inclination. When we get back to the Flagon, think you can manage to practice a bit?"

"Practice drinking?" Casavir laughed. "You must be mad."

"Suit yourself," Khelgar shrugged. "You'll get an unpleasant nickname like Casavir the Maiden or Casavir the Dry, but nobody really cares if you fall over after your third tankard, as long as you're decent when you're awake."

Casavir's next mouthful of ale almost came right back out again. Bishop's dancer was returning to the common room, looking annoyed. She was immediately accosted by what looked to be a friend and fellow dancer. Casavir was too far away to hear what they were saying, but the woman's gesture was unmistakable. She had returned because Bishop had imbibed too much to perform to her satisfaction.

Casavir froze. While Bishop might be intoxicated, he was still a threat, perhaps an even greater one, and Casavir had allowed his own judgment to compromised by too much drink.

"Speaking of which," The Lady interjected, stirring enough to sit fully upright, "I'd better turn in."

"My lady," Casavir attempted, "may I speak with you?"

"Of course, Cas," she smiled sleepily. "Here or away from the others?"

"Away, if you please," Casavir tried to enunciate clearly.

Casavir followed her up the stair, intensely aware that he was, in fact, far too impaired to have the conversation he wanted to have.

She led him to her room. She looked around for a place for him to sit, but there was none, as she was using the only chair in the room as an impromptu armor rack.

"Are you all right, Cas?" she asked, looking at him in concern.

"My lady, I fear for your safety," he said.

She blinked at him.

"We're safe enough here," she replied. "The doors lock."

"And if Bishop knocked on your door, would you let him in?"

"I let you in," she reminded him.

"My lady... I would not... I am not Bishop," he protested weakly.

"No," she agreed, "but sometimes, I think you're worse. You were having such a lovely time with Khelgar, but now, if I know you at all, you're about to say something vexing."

"My lady..." he began, cringing at the truth of her words, "I wondered if... might I persuade you to allow me to share your room. I swear by my faith that you have nothing to fear from me."

"I know that only too well," she replied, though Casavir thought he heard sadness in her voice, not mockery. "Why, Casavir? You know it only upsets us both."

"I seek only to protect you," he protested. "I would sleep on the floor. And I will, on one side of the door or the other."

"You'll do nothing of the sort!" She objected, though she sounded like she was holding back laughter. "Do you think I want you lurking out in the hallway, broadcasting your insanity to everyone who happens by? Besides, you've got a perfectly good bed of your own, and there's bound to be rats, in a wharfside inn. I won't allow you to sleep on the floor."

"You will not?" he sighed. "Then allow me to sleep at the foot of your bed. My lady, I am sworn to protect you. You must allow me to do so."

She stepped closer to him, then closer, forcing him to retreat until the backs of his knees pressed against the bed rail. A change had come over her face. Before, she had regarded him with indulgence, like anyone might look on a friend who had drunk a little more than his constitution would support, but now... The warm brown of her eyes reminded him of firewhiskey, lively and intoxicating.

"You want to share my bed?" she asked softly. There was something odd about her voice, something dangerous, but thrilling.

"If you will allow it," he whispered.

She drew even closer to him, until her body almost touched him. She reached out, placing her fingertips lightly against his cheek. She wrapped her other arm about his waist, trapping him. He felt her breath warm and soft against his bare neck. Slowly, deliberately, she stroked him, tracing a line down his cheek, down his neck, along his collarbone... over his chest... down his abdomen...

He could bear no more. His passion was roused to the point where he could hardly see, let alone stand, but he lurched away, breaking free of her embrace.

"My lady..." he groaned.

"When you can accept that, Casavir, and when you can respond in kind, then you may share my bed. Not before."

Casavir fled.

He ran past his own room and down the stair. He needed air. He went out into the street, toward the docks.

Gradually, he grew calmer. His pulse slowed and his breathing grew easier. He needed a walk, he decided, to clear his head.

He saw a figure some distance behind him. He turned just in time to see it dart into an alley, but he saw enough to identify his pursuer. The bright hair and pale, slender face could only belong to The Lady. She must have followed him. Perhaps her conscience plagued her, for having tormented him so.

Let her follow, if she chose. A long walk would be a just punishment for enticing him. She played with him. There was no malice in her, he knew, but he could not accept her caress, though he longed for it. If he had been driven to the brink of Falling for a woman of half her worth, what would he not do for her? No, he must be resolute, and resist. One day, perhaps... no, he would defer that thought. He had a lifetime to think of "tomorrow," but right now, he had to be alert to danger, for both their sakes.

He would walk slowly, to allow her to stay close, under his protection. She need fear nothing, if he was near.

* * *

_Note: Special thanks to my beta reader, this round. She's always great on feedback, but this would have been a whole lot darker without her help. So thanks for her persistence!_


	50. The Things We Do

_Disclaimer: Obsidian owns Casavir and Bishop, but Kayla and the incidental characters are mine, I'm afraid._

* * *

Kayla followed Casavir through the darkened streets of Port Llast. She kept well back, clung to the shadows, and tried to move as quietly as she could, but she was afraid that he would move too quickly for her to follow. She wished that Neeshka was not out, that she might have borrowed the tiefling's invisibility ring again, but wishing did her no good. Fortunately, Casavir appeared to be in no hurry, despite the haste of his departure.

She felt a little guilty about that. She should not have goaded him. He was what he was, even if he infuriated her, at times.

She could not even say why she followed him. He clearly wished to be alone. She told herself that she worried about him, alone in a strange city... alone, unarmed, unarmored, and half-drunk, as well. But Casavir was born and bred in Neverwinter, and knew better than she how to avoid trouble. It was more the manner of his departure that made her uneasy for him. He was so troubled, and there did not seem to be anything she could do to help him.

She had tried treating him like any other companion, and avoiding even the suggestion of intimacy between them, but that seemed to unsettle him worse than her former behavior had done, and it was making her cross and irritable, as well. It would all be so much easier if he could just admit that they both had needs, and that they would both be better off satisfying them together.

Unrequited love was far less satisfying than the bards described. She had always imagined that it would be all sighing and long, teary goodbyes while the unwitting object of her affection rode away, living his life as if she did not exist in it. That part was partially correct. There was plenty of sighing, living with Casavir, and plenty of pain, but there was also a lot of frustration, and a lot of wondering what she saw in him at all. Yes, he was handsome, certainly, but that was not enough to sustain the feelings that bound her to him.

Then she remembered. She thought back on all the times they had huddled under his lean-to, talking through her watch shift and half of Grobnar's, and about the time he had read to her aboard the Double Eagle, and about their walk on the deck. He revealed his inner self slowly to her, allowing her into his confidence only gradually, but by now, she knew that she was closer to him than any living person. She knew his moods, his mannerisms. Often, she knew what he would say before he even spoke. She understood his subtle, self-effacing humor, and she loved his shy, quiet smile.

It would be easier if he did go about his life as if it did not contain her. Then, she could mourn something that would never be and eventually get on with her own life. But he clung to her, even as he pushed her away. He knew she was there, and he wanted her there, but he simply could not allow their relationship to grow.

And she did worry about him, but not for fear that he might lose himself, or come to harm in a strange city. He was so fragile, so needy. If he loved her, his puzzling behavior might be excused. She could easily forgive him, if he had trouble reconciling, as he put it, the demands of his faith and the demands of his lover. If Casavir had ever been in love, it surely could not have been a healthy relationship. And his upbringing was no help. Kayla, at least, had Brother Merring and Retta Starling to show her what love looked like. Their love might be undeclared, but it was obvious to anyone who knew them. Casavir had no one. He would not know how to behave, and as shy as he was, he would have a hard time learning. But, as convenient an explanation as it might be, he did not love her. That made him a very close friend, but nothing more. She had many friends, in the course of her life, and none of them required the reassurance that Casavir seemed to need. He loved to be touched, to be held close, though he balked at even the thought of sexual contact.

She remembered Madam Mina and her cart, and she remembered what the old sweets peddler said of her conversations with her husband, how she felt so sorry for the little boy with no mother to tuck him in at night. At the time, she had taken it as little more than the fond recollections of an old lady, but now, it rent her heart. She had kind Brother Merring to confide in, and to console her as a father would when she was feeling sad or lonely, but Casavir was all alone. Was it any wonder that he craved affection so strongly?

She had made a mistake. When she proposed to Casavir that they treat each other as nothing more than friends, she had not listened to him. She gave him a choice between becoming lovers or becoming distant. She offered the choice before ever asking him what would make him happy. It would be only natural for Casavir to assume he had no other options, literal as he was. She would always want more than hand-holding, but if that was what Casavir wanted, a little frustration was a small price to pay for his happiness. At least it was not too late. He would go back to the inn eventually. When he got there, she could approach him, and _listen_ to him, not talk to him.

Casavir was no longer moving. He stood on the wharf, beside a laden barge. He was speaking with three impossibly burly men. She crept closer, trying to make out what they were saying. There was a row of stacked crates between them, so she hid behind it. She might not even have bothered. There were no lamps here, save the one the longshoremen used, and as it had begun to rain, there was no moon.

"... unloaded before midnight, or there'll be hells to pay," one of the burly dock workers was saying.

"I would be happy to assist you, if my help would spare you the lash," she heard Casavir volunteer.

"Heh," a different dock worker grunted, "you help us? We can't pay you."

"I would ask no compensation," Casavir replied.

"You must be the paladin," the first said. "What do you say, boss? Do we see what he's got?"

"Yeah," a third, colder voice agreed. "He's eager enough."

She heard a loud thud, quickly followed by a grunt in what sounded like Casavir's voice.

"Watch the beam," the cold voice advised. "Hold that arm, lad."

Had she seen a crane? She did not remember, and she could not stand up to look, or she would be spotted.

A rapid series of softer thuds followed, punctuated by grunts from the men. Suddenly, something crashed against the crates where Kayla hid, shifting them dangerously. She curled up into a protective ball, but none of the crates fell.

"Mind the cargo, lads," one of the voices snapped. She heard a sound like the slap of a hand against a shoulder, and a muffled groan.

"You're a tough blighter, aren't you?" the cold voice drawled. "Always ready for more punishment."

"I am not easily broken." Casavir's voice sounded strangely slurred, but he had been drinking.

"That's all we needed to hear," the apparent leader laughed. "Back to work, lads."

More scraping and shuffling followed, punctuated by grunts and a few muttered oaths. The crates shook again when something big struck them, and she heard something that sounded like a heavy sack dropping onto the wharf.

She heard the sound of something being dragged along the stone paving, then, after more crashes and thuds, silence.

"I suppose we're done here," the cold voice said. "And in exchange for all your help, I'll give you a little advice to pass along to your mistress. Stop digging. Go back to Neverwinter and wait. Bad things can happen to little girls who play with things bigger than they are. And you can't exactly help her now, can you? Why, you can't even help yourself. Have a good night now, _paladin,_ and mind you don't venture too far from the street lamps. It'd be a pity if something happened to that pretty face of yours... something else, that is."

Kayla did not like the way he said that, and Casavir had made no reply. She waited until the light from the workers' lamp faded, then emerged from behind the crates.

She saw nothing. The rain was getting heavier, and it was turning cold.

A flash of lightning briefly illuminated the wharf. She could not see everything in the short burst of light, but what she did see left her colder than the chilling rain. If those men were longshoremen, they were the sloppiest workers she had ever seen. The wharf was strewn with sacks and broken crates... and no crane.

"Casavir?" she called softly, but heard no reply.

She took a few hesitant steps forward and tripped over a sack. Something moaned.

Conjuring light, she stooped to examine what she tripped over. Her light showed the outline of a man, lying curled-up on the wharf. She pulled at his shoulder, turning his face to her light.

Casavir.

He was hurt, perhaps badly. His face was a mask of bruises and welts. He tried to speak through swollen, bloody lips, but no sound came out.

The healing spell was on her lips, but Casavir grabbed her wrist.

"No," he choked out, "do not heal me."

"I must!" she cried, trying not to weep. "You're hurt."

"I will live," he coughed. "Help me sit up."

He gasped when she shifted him, blanching in the darkness, but she was able to help him to a sitting position, though he leaned on her heavily.

"Cas, please!" she sobbed. "Let me help you."

"No," he insisted weakly, though his voice was getting stronger. "I can manage. Let me just rest a moment."

"What happened?" she asked, starting to regain control of her voice.

"I will tell you when we are safe," he coughed again. "If you help me, I think I can walk."

"I don't think you should move until you're healed," Kayla protested.

"Do not argue," he said. Despite her concerns, she had to admit that he sounded better.

She feared broken ribs or worse, but he might not be quite as bad as she thought, at first. She put her arm around him, and wedged her other hand under his armpit.

He gasped and moaned as she helped him to his feet, and he stood unsteadily, but he did not fall.

"Please, Cas," she tried again, "let me help you over to those crates. If you won't let me heal you, you can rest there while I get Khelgar and Shandra, and we can carry you back to the inn."

"No," he snapped, sounding encouragingly cross. "I feel fool enough already. I can walk. Leave me, if you must, but I _will_ get back to my room on my own feet."

"If that's the way you want it," she replied, smiling in spite of herself.

_So,_ she thought, _you do have some manly pride, my fledgling saint._

"But I'm not leaving you here," she said aloud. "Come on, now, one step at a time."

By the time they reached the inn door, Casavir was at the end of his endurance. He collapsed, pulling her down with him.

"Cas!" she gasped.

"Damn legs," he swore. "Help me."

"No, Cas," she said firmly. "That's far enough."

She got to her feet and looked around. She saw the guards who had harassed her earler.

"You there!" she called. "Man down, over here!"

A pair of them strutted over, then stooped, peering at Casavir.

"What happened to 'im?" one of them snorted.

"He was beaten half to death on your wharf," she snapped. "While you and your friends stood guard over a mess of ale pots. I can't carry him, so you'll have to help me."

"Oh, we do, do we?" the other guard sneered.

"Aye, we do," the first one sighed. "I knows what 'Aeromos told us, but they've been mindin' their manners 'ere well 'nough."

"Ye don't know that," the other protested. "For all ye know, 'e's the one that started it. 'Ow'd ye know there ain't a line o' bodies from 'ere to the garrison?"

"Ilmater's blood, Red, look at 'is 'oly symbol!" the first one barked. "Look at 'ers. These are gods-fearin' folk 'ere, not a pair o' thugs. Now shut yer yap an' grab 'is legs."

Kayla breathed a grateful prayer to whatever god favored compassionate guardsmen while they lifted Casavir, then led them into the inn. The common room was mostly empty, with all of her companions abed, but she was surprised at how little attention the few remaining locals paid to the sight of an obviously injured man being carried across the taproom.

She led them past Casavir's door, and opened her own.

"My room is there," Casavir protested weakly.

"Yes, dear one," she said softly, "but I'm looking after you here, tonight. Hush now, and let them get you settled."

They deposited Casavir on her bed, and the suspicious one stomped out of the room before she could even thank him. The kinder one lingered, his eyes moving between her and her patient.

"'E's 'urt pretty bad, missus," the man said. "Can I get ye a 'ealer?"

"I am a cleric," she said with some exasperation. "He's just too stubborn to let me heal him."

"Aye," the man nodded, "I know 'ow that goes. Mebe I can 'elps ye with 'is wet things, then. 'E's a big un, an' 'e's too banged up to 'elp ye."

"I can bloody well undress myself," Casavir protested from the bed.

"Aye, 'course ye can, mate," the guard laughed, "an' I can fly to the moon on the flames shootin' out me arse. So stop bein' such a babe an' quit yer whinin'."

"What's your name, sir," Kayla asksed the guard as they started pulling off Casavir's boots.

"Donal, miss," he replied. "An' I knows who ye are, but I don't know 'im."

"This is Casavir, Donal," she supplied. Now that Casavir had asserted his temporarily non-existent self-sufficiency, he had fallen back onto the bed, and lay still while they pulled off his wet tunic and leggings. "He's a paladin of Tyr."

"A paladin!" Donal said in surprise. "Ain't never met no paladin. Don't they 'ave 'alos an' the like?"

Kayla waited a moment for Casavir to respond, but he remained silent, his eyes drooping, despite the pain he must be feeling. His torso was bruised more badly than his face, and even his legs were covered in welts.

"They do," she said, "but it's more something you feel, rather than something you see. If you're a friend, it makes you feel braver, and safer, and warmer, but that isn't quite the right word, since it isn't really heat."

"Aye," Donal nodded. "I reckon I knows what ye're sayin'. Is there aught else I can do fer ye? Brings ye a potion, mebe, or Nya, if she's about?"

"I can manage, Donal," she said. "But I thank you very much for all your help. I could not have done this without you. I know it isn't much, but will you let me buy you a drink, or something... or give you silver for it, since you probably can't drink while you're on duty."

"Nah," Donal shrugged, "I reckon I owed ye, after the time we gave ye when ye got 'ere. I'll check in on ye in the mornin', an' see 'ow 'e fares, but if ye need sommat afore then, I'll be outside the inn all night."

"Thank you for everything, Donal," she bid him farewell, and returned to her patient.

He was a mess, she had to admit. His limbs appeared to be unbroken, but the same could not be said for his ribs. From the boot outlines on his flanks and back, they must have kicked him while he lay on the ground. His face was nearly unrecognizable.

She felt sick. She had crouched mere feet away while he was beaten almost to death, and she thought they were just making a lot of noise off-loading a barge.

"Oh, Cas," she groaned. "Why didn't you call out? I was right there."

"I knew you were," he sighed, his voice barely audible. "I knew you followed me, and that you hid yourself. One cry from me, and you would have come to my aid. I could not risk that, so I remained silent, and put up little resistance."

"Dear one, you have to let me heal you," she pleaded. "I swear every rib is broken, and you might have internal injuries. I'm not even sure if you'll make it through the night."

"I will," he said. "I just need rest. They knew what they were doing."

"I'll say!" she said crisply. "If they were trying to kill you."

"They wanted me to live," he said. "They wanted me to warn you. They were likely in Torio's employ, and assaulted me to encourage you to return to the safety of Neverwinter before you had time to assemble your case. I will live."

"Even if you do, you won't be able to ride," she countered, "and you won't be able to fight. We'll be days here, just getting you healed up enough to get out of bed."

"I know..." he groaned. "You may heal me in the morning. Let me have one night of pain as punishment for my arrogance."

"Arrogance, Casavir?" she blinked at him.

"I thought I could protect you," he sighed. "I could not even protect myself. I am a burden to you."

"You do protect me, Cas," she protested. "Every day. I know it, and I'm sorry I haven't thanked you for it. Please, Cas, let me heal you. I can't bear to see you in so much pain."

"The pain is just," he said stubbornly. "And I am already stronger. I need rest, my lady, nothing more."

"Why are you making this so difficult?" she sighed, sitting on the bed beside him and wiping the blood off his face. "I wish I could tell you what you mean to me, but you never listen. I need you, Casavir. I need you to be healthy, and I need you to be whole, and _not_ because I want you to fight for me. I care more about you than I do about any other person on Toril, and I can't bear the thought of losing you. Let me heal you... please."

She started to take his hand, but she withdrew when he winced. He had fought back, despite his assertions to the contrary. The only part of him that was not bruised or bloody was his neck, so she lay one hand on either side of it and looked into his face.

"My lady..." he whispered. "I did not know..."

"Let me heal you," she repeated, "please."

"I will live," he said soothingly. "My injuries are ugly, and they are painful, but they are far from mortal. Use the sight Lathander gave you, if you will not believe me."

Sighing, she obeyed him. She rarely used this particular ability with a conscious patient. She disliked its invasive nature. By concentrating on the life force moving through Casavir's body, she could see the internal structures, and sense where injury had damaged them. Apart from a pair of bruised kidneys, his organs were intact, and while his ribs were cracked, they had not broken, nor did they threaten his lungs. His brain, too, had sustained no damage, despite the bruising of his face. She already knew his liver and spleen were unhurt, or he would have died of internal bleeding by now. Still, it was reassuring to learn that he was correct in his estimation of the damage he had sustained. He was weak and in pain, but he would live.

"Are you determined to suffer?" she asked him one last time.

"Yes, my lady," he said, closing his eyes.

"Very well," she sighed, "but I'm not moving you tonight. Even if I thought you could get up from this bed, I would want you to stay here, where I can watch you."

"Thank you," he said simply.

"We need to talk, Cas," she said, biting her lip. "I know this isn't a good time, but we can do it in the morning, after I've healed you."

"As you wish," he murmured placidly, nearly asleep.

She got up and draped his wet clothing over her armor and the bed frame in hopes that it would dry by morning, then stripped to her undergarments and repeated the process with her own. He stirred a little as she covered him with a linen sheet, but he did not wake, and by the time she lay down beside him, he was already deeply asleep.

She was almost asleep herself when he shifted suddenly in the bed. She sat up and conjured light again at the odd sound he was making. To her surprise, it looked like he was trying to laugh.

"Is something wrong, Cas?" she asked anxiously.

"It seems I must endure one last humiliation tonight," he groaned.

"What is it?"

"I... my lady, I need your help to sit, and to get to the edge of the bed. And... forgive me... would you fetch the chamber pot?"

"Oh, Cas," she giggled, "you couldn't have thought of this before we got comfortable?"

"I was unaware that I would feel the need," he muttered. If she could have seen his face through the bruising, she was certain he would have been blushing crimson.

"It's all right, Cas," she said as soberly as she could manage, given his embarrassment. She knew he was suffering, but it was hard not to laugh at the absurdity of it. And poor Casavir. She was certain that under normal circumstances, he would have opened a vein before asking her help to urinate, but these were not normal circumstances. If he was suffering, she reminded herself, he was doing it of his own free will. Still, some things would not wait.

She got up, positioned the porcelain vessel as conveniently as she could, then helped him sit up. She had to lift his legs over the bed rail herself, then sit with her back braced against his while he did what he had to do. By the time she was able to get him settled and resting again, he was weak and sweating from the strain.

Once he was settled, she got up to push the chamber pot back under the bed. She was not surprised to see how dark the contents were. With two bruised kidneys, he was ridding himself more of blood than of urine. Still, the worst was over, and he was resting comfortably now.

She kissed his forehead gently and lay down beside him once more. He mumbled something incomprehensible and endearing, then sighed contentedly and started snoring. She shook her head at the racket, but sleep was claiming her, too. She gave in.

* * *

Casavir woke to the sound of knocking. He tried to sit, but was reminded painfully why that was impossible. The Lady stirred beside him.

"Now who could that be?" she muttered groggily, sitting up and fumbling for the tinderbox.

"Do not answer it," he urged her, reaching out for her in the darkness.

"I have to, Cas," she sighed.

She was still playing with the tinderbox, and failing to get anything to catch. It never ceased to amaze Casavir how long it took The Lady to light a candle.

"Use the Sphere, my lady," he suggested.

"Right," she agreed. A moment later, the room was bathed in the familiar amber glow.

"Let them wait until morning," Casavir said again.

"I can't, Cas," she replied, getting out of bed. He blinked at how little she was wearing, nothing more than the most basic of undergarments, but it was a warm night. "What if Donal went for Nya, after all? Or maybe Sand found something important."

"Or perhaps Bishop has grown weary of waiting for you to invite him into your bed and has decided to force the issue."

"Bishop doesn't want me, Cas," she said patiently. "He just pretends he does to get a reaction from you. When we're alone, I might as well be male."

"When are you alone with Bishop?" Casavir demanded, feeling something strangely fierce creep over him. Had he the power, he would have sat up and taken hold of her arm, but as weak and aching as he was, all he could do was glare at her.

"Here and there, Cas," she said soothingly, stroking his neck, "and never for very long."

"Let that be the explanation for his restraint, then," Casavir insisted. "Do not allow yourself to be lulled into thinking him harmless. The moment you let your guard down..."

"Cas," she said more firmly, "Bishop isn't like you. He doesn't look for anything more than a pretty face and a nice pair of tits. I haven't got either-"

"You are _beautiful_," Casavir protested.

"In your eyes, dear one," she smiled at him. "He sees only a chalky face with a funny-looking mouth."

"Bring that mouth closer and I will show you what I think of that assessment," Casavir said with uncharacteristic boldness.

"Easy Cas," she chuckled, smiling fondly at him. "I'm saying what he sees, not what I find fault with. Besides, even your generous eyes can't give me a figure I'll never have."

"My lady, please," Casavir groaned. "If you insist on cataloging what you perceive as flaws, you will provoke me to actions that will undo all the good my rest has done."

"Really?" she blinked at him. "You only say that because you're too sore to move."

He felt his blush rise in his still-painful cheeks.

At that moment, the knock was repeated, louder.

"I have to get that, Cas," she said, crossing to the door.

"Will you not at least dress yourself more completely?" Casavir asked.

"It's all still wet," she shrugged. "Besides, it's probably Sand, and elves don't care about nudity... and I'm all covered."

He tried, but he was unable to raise himself enough to look at the door.

The voice that issued through the crack, however, was unmistakable.

"Evening, Princess," the hated voice drawled. "Got a flask of firewhiskey here with your name on it. Open up, and we'll split it."

"Thanks, Bishop," The Lady groaned. "Why are you here?"

"Got bored." Casavir could almost hear Bishop's shrug. "Couldn't sleep, and thought you might have the same problem."

"Actually, I was sleeping quite well," she replied with reassuring coolness. "I'd like to go back to it now, if you don't mind."

"I wouldn't mind joining you," Bishop laughed.

Casavir's could bear no more.

"Not while I live and breathe!" he snarled, vainly trying to sit. Despite his resolution that he should pass the night in penance, he gathered his will for a healing spell. If he was going to fight Bishop, he needed strength. The Lady had her mace in the room. If she would not use it on Bishop, Casavir, certainly, had no such reservations.

"Who've you got in there?" Bishop asked. Casavir heard the door creak open.

"No, Bishop!" The Lady protested.

"Who's this?" Bishop was standing over him now, leaning to peer at his face. "Nice face, _paladin_. Hmf. Surprised you could fuck her like this. What did she do, ride you?"

Casavir sputtered inarticulate denial, but The Lady took Bishop's arm and steered him a short distance away, though if Casavir turned his head, he could still see them.

"He was attacked in the street, Bishop-" she began.

"Don't blame 'em for that, whoever they were," Bishop snorted.

"He was attacked in the street, and he's here so I can nurse him," she said, unperturbed. "Did you want something, or are you going to waste time hurling insults at each other all night?"

"Heh," Bishop shrugged. "Serves me right. If you must know, I just wanted to see if I could take your mind off things for a while. I guess this is what I get for doing something _nice_."

"Thank you, Bishop," she said softly. Casavir felt a jealous pang at her gentle tone. "It was thoughtful of you, and I'm grateful, but Cas needs rest, and you should be sleeping, too. See you in the morning?"

"S'pose," Bishop grunted. "What time?"

"How long will it take us to reach Ember?" she asked.

"A day and a bit," Bishop replied curtly.

"Midmorning, I guess," she sighed. "I wanted to give C-... to give everyone a chance to sleep in, but I don't imagine we're going to want to camp in Ember."

"One day at a time, Princess," Bishop replied. Casavir was surprised at his voice. It sounded sad, almost. "Sleep well."

"You, too," she said.

Bishop sighed and moved out of Casavir's sight. He heard the door close a moment later, then the sound of the key in the lock.

She reentered his line of vision and sat on the edge of the bed, turning toward him. She brushed the hair out of his eyes and began to stroke his cheek, but guided her caress to his neck at his grimace.

"You need rest, Cas," she sighed. "You shouldn't have let yourself become so agitated."

"He was here to molest you," Casavir said sternly.

"He was here to cheer me up," she shook her head. "And it was a thoughtful thing to do. Besides, do you really think he'd try anything with you lying here like the wrath of Tyr?"

"Yes," Casavir groaned. "He would want me to watch him take you."

"See?" she smiled. "Even you admit that his only interest in me is to antagonize you."

"He did not know I was here until I spoke," he protested. "My lady, why do you even speak to him? You should shun him. His soul is twisted, corrupt. You are a creature of goodness and light. Conversation with one such as him can only lead you to darkness."

"I want to help him, Cas," she said softly. She leaned over him, smiling wistfully and stroking his neck. "He can be saved, dear one, I'm sure of it. You saw how changed he was when he came here, even though you provoked him. He didn't even say anything rude to me. With time and patience, who knows? He may surprise us both."

"When he first got here, he asked you if you wanted company in bed," Casavir reminded her.

"He was joking," she smiled. "I wouldn't know him if he didn't at least say something suggestive. Anyway, why would I accept him, when I've already got you nestled snug in my bed?"

"He would tempt you, my lady," Casavir sighed. "He would promise you ecstasy, but he would be lying. In lying with him, you would give him pleasure almost beyond enduring, but there would be nothing for you but pain and regret."

"How do you know this, Cas?" she asked. He stared at her, but there was no reproach in her tone, or accusation, only gentle curiosity.

"It was long ago," he said, unable to meet her eyes. "I was young... and very selfish. Please, my lady... I am ashamed of what I did. Do not ask me to relive those memories."

"Oh, Cas," she sighed, taking his hand in hers. To his relief, she looked at the hand she held in her lap, not at his face. "It isn't easy talking about this with you, but I think it would be good for you to hear it. I have heard that the first time between two people is often unpleasant, for one or even both parties. There is so much uncertainty, and self-conscious insecurity, and even fear, it is easy to forget that there can also be closeness, and joy. It can be very frightening, sharing something that intimate with another. But if there is love, and mutual respect, it can be a beautiful memory to treasure forever. I am sorry if you regret... what happened in the past... but it does not always have to be like that. Next time, it could be as magical as you ever heard it could be."

He shuddered involuntarily at the memory of lovemaking. Try though he had, he had never been able to rid himself of the memory of that blinding moment when the wave of his passion crested and was spent. He tried to forget because he remembered only too well how relieved the girl had been, when it was over at last. She endured it, and had offered herself again and again out of obligation to him, but she had not enjoyed it. He kept trying because he hoped that the tales were true, that in loving him, she might learn to crave his touch, but she had not. Now that he was older, and hopefully wiser, he wondered if the lack was simply that she never loved him, but a brutally honest part of his brain suggested that the lack was in him, that he was simply incapable of pleasing a woman.

"Cas?" her soft voice brought him out of his melancholy reverie. She was looking at him again, though her expression was kind, concerned.

"Forgive me," he sighed. "You intend that we should leave midmorning?"

"You can't even talk about it?" She was persistent, but she was gentle, nonetheless. She wanted answers, and her quiet, beautiful voice would drag them out of him.

"She bit her lip when I took her," he said, looking away, "and tears were in her eyes while we lay together. She thanked the gods when I was done. I hoped... I prayed that her love for me would teach her to cherish the... time we spent together as much as I, or that I might find some way to please her, if my love was not enough. My lady, I could not bear to see that pain in the eyes of another, let alone in the eyes of a woman I loved."

"Oh, Cas," she murmured, "I'm sorry. I understand now why you don't want to try again, though I wish I could convince you that it doesn't have to be like that. She left you, didn't she?"

"She never loved me," he said sadly. "She chose another whose touch repulsed her less. I have nothing to give, my lady. My form is pleasing... though perhaps not now... but it cloaks nothing a woman would want."

"That reminds me," she said, smiling enigmatically, "it is long past midnight, and therefore, it is morning."

With little warning, he felt her power enter him, flooding his veins with soothing warmth, like liquid light. Her healing was different from his, warmer, and it felt like joy coursed through him. When the spell faded, he was rejuvenated, completely healed, but he was also inexplicably happier, as if she had healed a little of his soul, along with his body.

She lay her cheek on his chest, and worked her hands around his ribs under his arms. He closed his own arms around her and kissed the top of her head.

"You will ask me to go now," he predicted sadly. "I am not prepared to remain under the terms you set last night."

"Never mind that, dear one," she whispered. "You may come to my bed whenever you want, and I won't ask you to go where you are not ready to go. I do hope that one day, you will believe me when I tell you that you do have more to give than you say, but if nothing I've said to you has convinced you otherwise, you'll have to realize it on your own. I'll still be here when you do."

He sighed contentedly, and, taking one of his arms from around her, he tilted her chin so that he could look at her face. She was smiling, but she looked sad, somehow. He raised her chin a little more and kissed her gently on the lips.

"Thank you for healing me," he whispered, "and for letting me share your bed. You should sleep, though, or you will be weary tomorrow."

She shifted on the bed so that she lay alongside him, and, laying her head in the crook of his shoulder, draped one arm over his chest. He closed his eyes and tightened his arms around her, savoring the delicious feel of her body in his arms.

"Before we go to sleep, I wanted to talk about something with you," she said.

"Something else?" he asked lightly, though he wondered what else she could have to say. They had talked much, and about matters very near to Casavir's heart. He was weary.

"Yes, my stubborn, silent one," she chuckled, then grew more serious. "When we spoke last, before we left Neverwinter, I wronged you."

"You did not, my lady," he said firmly.

"But I did. I gave you the choice of becoming my lover or becoming nothing more than an indifferent companion. I never asked you what you wanted. What do you want, Cas? What would make you happy?"

"Do you remember when we sat in the common room last night? When Khelgar tried to teach me to drink like a dwarf and you lay your head against my shoulder? You did not unsettle me then, you simply took comfort in my presence and offered me comfort and companionship in return. Had you taken my hand, my happiness would have been complete. I want that."

"Then you shall have it," she whispered.

Casavir closed his eyes and offered a silent prayer of thanksgiving to Tyr for the joy that filled him.

He shifted more onto his side, so he could face her, and once more, kissed her lightly. She returned his kiss hesitantly, shyly, and he felt her tremble. The soft, yielding enjoyment she showed at his caress emboldened him, and he found himself kissing her again, more passionately, but the ache growing in his loins reminded him that he must restrain his affection for her. Drawing away from her lips, he kissed her forehead instead, and lowered her face to rest against his shoulder once more.

"Sleep well, sweet lady," he breathed, and closed his eyes.


	51. Ember

_Disclaimer: Obsidian owns everybody but Kayla._

* * *

Casavir woke the next morning feeling content, surprisingly well-rested, and far too warm. The reason for the last was that it was a bright Eleasis morning, sunlight was streaming through the open window onto the bed, and that he held The Lady clasped firmly to his body. They both lay on their sides, and he had drawn her close indeed... far, far too close. She slept, still, and that was fortunate, as her proximity had roused him to an extent that would have been impossible to ignore, had she been awake. He turned onto his other side, to cool both his body and his ardor. He only hoped that she slept too soundly to notice that he pressed himself against her while he slept.

This was going to be difficult. Tyr knew how much he needed her beside him. While he held her, his cares fell away and he slept like the innocent he would never be again. But he wanted her, and in the relaxation sleep brought, he sometimes forgot why he must not have her.

He would speak with Elanee. She would be discreet. Surely, there was some herb or potion he could take that would rid him of the longings that threatened her chastity and his tranquility. In the meantime, he would simply have to use his judgment, and share her bed only when either she or he needed the comfort of another human presence.

_Oh, that will help,_ his conscience sneered. _You need "comfort" every moment of every day, the way you've been bleating, lately._

_That is untrue,_ his will asserted. _Now that I know where we stand, I am as serene as any man in Faerûn. _

_And when Bishop sits beside her at the fire tonight, and offers her that flask he saved for her, will you still be so serene? _His conscience was laughing at him. It was a sad day, when a man could be mocked by his own conscience.

_We ride to Ember,_ he reminded his conscience firmly. _That grim place will drive away any thought The Lady might have of Bishop._

_So, it will be her that needs "comforting" tonight, then?_ His conscience suggested wickedly. _So one way or another, you'll have your lady in your arms every night._

_We will not reach Ember tonight,_ his will said flatly. _And she is not my lady. And I will thank you not to take that tone with me. I made you._

_And I can _break_ you,_ his conscience said, becoming grim, in turn. _One word from me, when your hand is on the blade and a choice is before you, and you will crumble._

_I have nothing to fear from _you_,_ his will replied. _You have been my companion these many years. Do you think I do not know you?_

_I am certain you do,_ his conscience answered promptly. _It's just that I'm not sure I know _you_ anymore._

To that, his will had no reply.

"Are you all right, Cas?" The lady asked, turning herself and laying one arm across him.

"Yes, my lady," he said promptly. "I was just too warm. Are you rested?"

"As much as I can be, under the circumstances," she replied.

"I never felt you rise to make your devotions," he observed.

"You were dead to the world," she chuckled. "And you snore."

"I do not!" he protested. "Or perhaps it was the heat."

"Could be," she admitted. "It was warm in here, last night. But it was cooling down fast, outside. If the rain has stopped, we'll have good weather for riding. Are you ready to face the day?"

"Yes, my lady," he replied dutifully. "My lady... how do we do this? One of us must rise first."

"We'll both get out of bed," she said, "and we'll both get dressed. I'll be too busy dressing to look at you, and you'll be too busy dressing to look at me. And we'll go down to the common room, eat our breakfasts, and get out of Port Llast as quickly as we possibly can. Oh, I almost forgot. Donal called, a little after sunrise. He's one of the ones who carried you in last night. He was pleased that you're feeling better, and he hopes that you bear Port Llast no ill will for having come to harm on her streets."

"Port Llast is not to blame," Casavir said, rising and looking for his clothing. "Those men wanted to frighten you off, it is true, but they were not locals. They spoke with more refinement than one normally finds in the longshoremen of any city, and if our good Donal is any indication of the way people talk in these parts, they were most certainly imported. Perhaps Torio placed agents in Port Llast deliberately, hoping that you would begin your search for clues here, or she might have placed them everywhere. We must be on guard, Khelgar and I, to ensure that you come to no harm."

"I won't," she said, though her speech was hampered by her struggle with the tunic she was trying to don. "With the pair of you looking out for me, and with you threatening to sleep outside my door if I don't let you into my room, I'm safer than a sausage on Elanee's plate."

"Anything but that!" Casavir laughed. "If I saw one, I would devour it. I do not recall when I have been so hungry."

"That reminds me," she said, "we need to resupply before we leave. We could hunt, but I do not want to take the time. We'll return here, after we've been to Ember – three days, at most – and with the horses, we can carry all the provisions we'll need."

"My lady, you may find that our journey takes us beyond Ember," he reminded her.

"Yes, yes," she waved away his concerns, "but I'll want to return here before moving on, anyway, even if we have to backtrack. I'll want to tell Nya we did what she asked us to do."

"I admire your commitment to living up to your obligations," he said, "but we had better prepare for a more protracted journey. Let us provision ourselves for five days, not three. Or perhaps we had better resign ourselves to hunting and leave the horses here. According to all accounts, Ember was burned. There will be carnage, my lady, and the horses will be difficult to control, around the smell of so much death. Also, we do not know where the path will lead, once Ember is left behind. We would not lose half a day, going on foot."

"I'll see what Bishop says," The Lady mused. "If he agrees, we'll leave the horses here."

"And why should you listen to him," Casavir growled. "He cares nothing for your quest."

"He has to be allowed to contribute, Cas," she insisted. "Why should he even come with us, if he's never allowed to have his say?"

"Bishop can go back to Neverwinter," Casavir snapped, "or he can go to the hells, and save some well-meaning soul the trouble of sending him there."

"Don't, Cas," she said gently, though there was steel beneath her words. "We're all in this together, and we have to get along."

"We are not 'all in this together,'" he protested hotly. "You and I, certainly, and Khelgar and Elanee, and Grobnar and even Neeshka, but make no mistake, Bishop is in this for Bishop. No one else."

"Cas," she sighed, "you are the dearest of all my companions, but you vex me. How can we expect Bishop to prove he is trustworthy if we never trust him?"

"You will never make someone trustworthy simply by trusting him," Casavir countered. "It is in his soul or it is not. He proved himself false even before we rescued Shandra, when he..."

"That's enough, Casavir," she said, the rarely-heard crack of command in her voice. "I will yield to you in all else, but obey me in this."

"As you wish," he replied tersely, yanking on his boots savagely.

She had him there. He might flatter himself by thinking she shared her command with him, but the blunt truth of it was that she was the leader and he, the follower. That, perhaps, was the hardest part of his new life. At Old Owl Well, he led his company. He said the word and it was done. If a new recruit proved unsatisfactory, he was dismissed, and no one dared gainsay him on his decision. Here, he was just another subordinate, no matter how she favored him.

It was not that he resented this change, nor did he lack the ability to follow faithfully. Since coming of age and proving himself on the battlefield, he had often led the groups he served, but he had not always done so. And in many ways, he was relieved to be spared the responsibility of making all the decisions. It was only now, when he desperately wanted to dismiss Bishop, that he chafed at his inability to do so.

He felt the weight of a hand on his shoulder. She stood over him, looking down at him in concern. She kissed his forehead.

He stood abruptly, stepping away from her.

"I will need to armor up and collect my gear before joining the party in the common room," he said firmly. "I will not delay you long."

She caught his arm as he turned to go.

"Don't be like this, dear one," she sighed. "You know what you mean to me."

He sighed, too, and felt his will soften.

"I am not angry with you, my lady," he said, "I simply do not agree with you."

"Well, I can't tell you what to think," she smiled. "Just don't be too hard on him, all right? Show him a little kindness, and I'd be surprised if the two of you didn't get along just fine... No, I suppose that would be too much to ask, wouldn't it?"

"There are some that describe opposites as oil and water, or fire and ice," he said. "Were that the case, Bishop and I could peacefully coexist, as we would, by our very natures, avoid each other. We are vitriol and lye. Both are harsh enough on their own, though occasionally useful, but combine them, and the explosion rains caustic destruction on everything around."

"Well, I'll just have to keep you in separate jugs, now, won't I?" she smiled, tightening her fingers around his arm before releasing it. "He might as well ride up front on the way to Ember, since he knows the way better than any of the rest of us, so I want you to ride in the back."

"And where will you be?"

"In the middle," she sighed, "same as always."

* * *

They reached Ember mid-afternoon on the second day out from Port Llast.

Even knowing what to expect, Kayla was still unprepared for the horrors in store for her in Ember. From the hilltop near the village, everything just looked burned. The wooden buildings were blackened, their roofs gone, and she could see the carcasses of the larger livestock, the cattle and horses, lying here and there among the ruins. As they drew closer, other details began to emerge, and there was the smell...

Kayla was ill well before they got to Ember. Of them all, only Khelgar, Casavir, Sand, and Bishop were able to suppress their nausea. Khelgar and Casavir exchanged anxious looks, then Khelgar went over to walk beside Neeshka and Casavir came to walk beside her. He did not speak or touch her, but his calm, solemn presence reassured her, nonetheless.

Finally, they drew close enough for her to see the human remains. She wished she had not. Some of them had been partially burned, but all bore the unmistakable signs of violence.

"My lady," Casavir said softly, "I would spare you if I could..."

"I know, Cas," she said weakly. "I know I must see this. I can bear it. I must."

"I am here," he said. "If you need to draw away to compose yourself, say the word and I will guide you away. If my presence comforts you, reach out and I will bear you up."

"There is no need for the others to come any closer," she said grimly, swallowing another wave of bile. "Sand, I need you to help me search... for whatever we might find here, and Cas, I need you to... I just need you, but everyone else... if you want to remain here, or to go upwind, I understand. Khelgar, if anyone wants to go, would you lead them? And you should take the horses. Minnow seems all right, but I don't think I can manage Peaches."

"Aye," Khelgar nodded, then caught Casavir's arm. "Any sign of trouble, you send up a light spell and get her the hells out of there."

"This happened over a tenday ago, Khelgar," Kayla said, "and it's Eleasis. The smell has driven even the vultures away. There will be no trouble."

"Old habits," Khelgar shrugged. "Come on, you lot! Anybody coming with me, we're moving a quarter mile up the hill."

In the end, only Casavir, Sand, and Bishop, and to her surprise, Shandra remained with her, though Shandra looked every bit as ill as Kayla felt. Kayla dutifully sprinkled Nya's wyrmsage on the bodies she found, but they only found two pieces of evidence. The first was the quartermaster's log, which showed that Ember had received regular trade traffic from Luskan until a tenday before the massacre. After that, there was not a single entry. Sand hypothesized that the reason traders from Luskan stopped coming to Ember was that they were warned that there would be no need for them there.

The second piece of evidence came in the form of the murdered priest. Darkness had fallen while they searched, and she had not seen him lying in the shadow of a ruined barn. She fell across him, and when she reached out to break her fall, her bare hand slid across his putrid flesh. She lurched away, but nausea overcame her. She crouched by some nearby bushes, her empty stomach heaving. Once the spasms stopped, she muttered a calming cantrip, but nothing happened. As in Solace Glade, she could feel that her powers were intact, but she was unable to access them.

Casavir was beside her, reaching out to comfort her.

"Don't touch me!" she yelled. "Pikeweed!"

"Pikeweed?" Casavir recoiled. "Here?"

"That body over there is full of it," she said. "I got some... fluid... on me when I fell."

"Hmm, yes," Sand mused, bending over to study the body in question. "He is a priest of Chauntea, judging by the holy symbol, but there's something more, here. Pikeweed was not the only Luskan poison at work here. Do you see this discoloration around his lips... Shandra, if you're going to be sick again, I would thank you not to stand by me... anyway, his mouth and nose have a slight yellowish cast to them that suggest that he was poisoned with... well the name isn't important. It's enough to know that, unlike pikeweed, which is more or less available everywhere, it is a very rare poison, and its use is more or less confined to a certain select group of Luskan assassins. I should like to take a tissue sample as evidence."

"Thanks, Sand," she said, trying not to breathe. "Good eye... especially in this light... excuse me!"

Once more, her stomach rebelled, though she had long ago rid herself of anything else she might throw up.

"Tough it out, Princess," Bishop said rather unhelpfully. "Thought you priests were used to foul stinking messes."

"I'm covered in it," she gasped. She did not know whether it was the pikeweed or simply the shock of falling onto a decaying corpse, but she felt faint.

"We have to get her out of here," Casavir said. "Have we searched the entire village?"

"Yes," Sand said. "This was the last building."

"Then let us rejoin the others," Casavir said. "But she will need to wash, first. We passed a well."

Kayla was getting tired of ruining clothing. Two sets in a single tenday, and clothing was expensive. Worse, after she washed, she was obliged to put dirty clothing back on. But it could not be helped. Besides the revulsion she felt at the thought of putting her more recently soiled clothing back on, she needed to be able to use her spells.

Bathing, itself, proved to be a challenge. Sand and Shandra held their blankets around her as she disrobed, but Bishop and Casavir kept trying to peek. Bishop made no attempt to disguise his interest, and seemed to enjoy Casavir's indignation at his voyeurism. Yet even as he berated Bishop for being a lustful wretch, Casavir himself was craning his neck to peer over the blankets, and then turning away abruptly in shame when he realized he was doing the same thing as Bishop. Given the gravity of the situation and the horrors that surrounded them, Kayla knew she should be annoyed by their antics, but she was amused by them, instead. It was a relief to think of something besides death. Shandra seized the opportunity to laugh openly at both men's expense, and even Sand tut-tutted and snickered indulgently.

At last, though, she was clean and dressed in different, but still dirty clothing, and she dropped the bucket back down into the well.

"Wait a moment!" Sand said suddenly. "What have we here?"

"Is something wrong, Sand?" Kayla asked him.

"Did you drop something into the well besides the bucket?" he asked.

"No," she replied.

"I heard two splashes," Sand said quietly.

"The bucket fell over, Sand," Bishop said irritably. "It's probably only sitting in six inches of water."

"No," Sand insisted, "there's something moving down there."

"In you go, Bishop," Kayla said.

"Forget it," Bishop snorted. "You want me to drown?"

"In six inches of water?" Kayla raised an eyerow.

"Fine, fine," Bishop sighed, "I know how it goes. Dark, confined spaces with death waiting at the bottom? Send the ranger. He lives for danger."

"Yes, Bishop," she said solemnly, glad it was too dark for him to see her roll her eyes. "You face grave peril, descending into the deeps. Why, if you stay down there long enough, you might even get clean. Now hang on, and I'll cast a light spell on the bucket so you can see what you're doing."

"So I can see what's about to eat me, you mean!" Bishop snorted. "I swear on your little pink nipples that if anything happens to me down there, I'll have Karnwyr tear out the paladin's throat."

"You won't go down the rope?" she asked dismissively. "Fine. Casavir, would you mind?"

"It would be an honor, my lady," Casavir answered promptly, but Bishop was already pushing him out of the way.

"No, I'll go," he snarled at Casavir, "paladins shrink when they get wet, and he's puny enough."

To her relief, that was enough to quell the bickering, and Bishop shimmied down the rope.

"It's big down here," Bishop's voice echoed up the well. "It looks like there's a tunnel or a cavern or something, and I found your 'something moving'. The rope's too long, and the slack fell into the water. And... oh, gods... that's disgusting."

"What's disgusting, Bishop?" Kayla called anxiously down the well.

"Get down here," he answered. "You've got to see this for yourself."

"Let me go first," Casavir said. "I can assist you on your descent."

Kayla sighed. Bishop could catch as easily as Casavir, if she slipped, but Cas would be Cas. She was thinking that an awful lot, lately.

When at last she reached the bottom of the rope, she found herself in a long, low cavern. A stream ran through it, deep enough to cover the bucket, but no deeper. Even directly under the rope, it was only knee-deep, and it was narrow. Most of the cavern was quite dry.

She had no difficulty in finding what disgusted Bishop. High up one bank, near some oddly glowing fungus, someone had built a miniature shelter, nothing more than three walls and a roof. Inside, tattered blankets made up a kind of a nest, with battered toys tucked into their folds. On this tiny bed, a child slept, wrapped in a cast-off cloak, clutching Bishop's dagger like it was a doll.

Kayla ran forward, but stopped several feet away. The child was sleeping, she could see, and she did not want to startle him with too-sudden an approach.

"Hello?" she said gently.

The boy opened his eyes, but he did not startle, or even look surprised.

"Oh, there you are," he said. "I've been waiting for you."

"I know you," Kayla breathed. "You were the boy that wanted Bishop's dagger... and you're alive! Praise Lathander! I was afraid no one was spared."

"No one was, except me," the boy said solemnly. "I'm Marcus."

She crossed to sit beside the boy, and touched his arm gently.

"I know this must be painful for you, Marcus," she said, "but did you see what happened?"

"I saw everything," he answered. There was no fear in his voice, or even horror, just the calm acceptance of a fact. "You killed everyone."

"Marcus," she sighed, "I was two hundred miles away."

"Yes, I know," Marcus went on in that same calm voice. "It wasn't you, not really, but it looked like you on the outside. On the outside, I saw you, but underneath, I saw another person, a big man, bigger than the one in the armor, twice as broad, at least, and bald. He was angry."

"Interesting," Sand observed, stepping forward to kneel beside Kayla. "What do you see when you look at her?"

"She's the same all the way through," Marcus said. "She's got something in her chest. It isn't from here."

"Remarkable!" Sand beamed. "He saw the shard, Kayla. If you came with us, would you be able to stand up in front of strangers and tell them what you saw here?"

"That's why I waited," Marcus said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I will go to Port Llast. The innkeeper will let me stay."

"We'll take you there ourselves," Kayla insisted. "We'll have to stay on the other side of the hill tonight, but we'll take you there first thing in the morning."

"Like hells, we will," Bishop spat. "It's bad enough we're saddled with the paladin. If the kid wants to go to Port Llast, he can take himself there."

"He's only a child, Bishop," Casavir interjected.

Kayla sighed, bracing herself against the inevitable bickering.

"He can fend for himself," Bishop snarled. "He's got to have what? Six, maybe seven summers? And the brat's still got my knife."

"Here, mister," Marcus said timidly, extending the knife toward Bishop, "you can have it back now."

Bishop took the dagger, but he did not appear mollified.

"Don't think you won't be walking to Port Last," he snapped.

"He's coming with us, Bishop," Kayla said wearily, forestalling anything further Casavir might say. "You might as well just accept it."

"Hey, it's your neck they'll be stretching, if he slows us down," Bishop shrugged.

Kayla ignored him. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Casavir stared into the fire, poking it idly with a half-burnt stick. As much as he grudged the delay in pursuing The Lady's defense, he could hardly condone abandoning a child to fend for himself on the edge of ruin. They would see Marcus safely back to Port Llast, and that was just.

A thin, high-pitched wail cut the stillness of the night. He was on his feet, running toward the noise, but The Lady was there first, leading Marcus back toward the fire.

"Bad dreams," she said simply.

Casavir nodded, and walked with them. For all that Marcus appeared to be a child seer, he was still a child, and one who had witnessed horrors that would drive grown men mad.

"This is Casavir, Marcus," she said. "I don't know if you got to meet him before. He's a paladin... a holy warrior of Tyr. He protects us."

Casavir nodded solemnly at the boy's wide-eyed stare. Now that there were no portents to announce of cryptic messages to deliver, Marcus looked to be nothing more than an ordinary boy, though he was more quiet and shy than some.

It was ironic, he thought, that he should make such an observation.

The Lady had seated herself, and Marcus sat beside her. She had taken up the stick Casavir had been using to poke the fire, and was using it to draw pictures in the dirt.

"It's a cat," Marcus said suddenly, "chasing a rabbit?"

"That's right," The Lady smiled, handing Marcus the stick. "Now it's your turn."

Casavir watched as she put her arm around the boy's shoulders, and rested her chin on his shoulder as he drew. The firelight played on their faces, lighting her gentle smile and his eager one.

As accustomed as he was to the ache of loneliness in his heart, it still caught him at unawares, sometimes. It was almost as if he looked on a family... something he would never know.

"I bet Casavir would like to play, too, Marcus," she said, looking up at him. "Can he sit with us?"

"If he wants," Marcus nodded, looking for all the world like a little magistrate declaring that Casavir might approach the bench.

"Thank you, Marcus," Casavir said gravely, and seated himself on the other side of the boy.

They began seriously, taking turns drawing pictures and guessing what the others drew, but before long, they were all giggling at the increasingly fantastical images they were forming.

"That looks like a goat in a helmet," Casavir ventured, "riding on the back of a... Is that me you are drawing?"

"Sorry, Cas," The Lady said sheepishly. "I can't really draw very well."

"A goat in a helmet!" Marcus chortled. "You're silly!"

"Only sometimes," The Lady said loyally. "Most of the time, he's very brave, and very, very serious. Cas, why don't you tell Marcus how we found a horse for Grobnar while I get a blanket? I want to put him in your lean-to tonight. He's a little too old to share with Neesh and I, and if he wants to be a scout when he grows up, he's going to have to get used to bunking up with his trail mates."

She stood up, but before she turned away, she moved her hand over her own arm, like she was stroking something close to her skin, and mouthed the word "aura."

That made sense, Casavir thought. If the child suffered from nightmares, it was probable that his aura would drive them away.

The Lady was gone longer than Casavir expected. He finished telling Marcus the story about the horses, and had told him another about his brother Elvar teaching him to fish, and how he had fallen into the harbor as a result, when he noticed Marcus' eyelids drooping.

"Why don't you just curl up here on the ground a moment?" Casavir suggested in as soft a voice as he could manage. "And I will tell you how Lady Kayla was made a squire."

He began the story in a calm, steady voice, but he spoke more and more quietly as he went, until his voice was barely a whisper. By the time he was halfway through the the oath-taking ceremony, Marcus was asleep.

The Lady reappeared with her blanket. She held it out to him in her arms, and for a moment, it was not her blanket she held, but a swaddled infant, with rosy cheeks and an abundance of dark, curly hair. He looked up at her in surprise, only to find her looking down on him, her face suffused with love. He took the babe and cradled it against his breast, and the infant opened pale blue eyes to regard him steadily.

"Cas?" The Lady's quiet voice brought him back to the present. To his embarrassment, he found that he was holding the blanket as if it were, in fact, a baby.

"Forgive me," he stammered. "I fear I was dozing off myself, telling tales to Marcus."

"So I see," she replied, though she smiled at him. "Hang on to that a moment. Marcus has had a long day, but he sleeps lightly. I want to deepen his sleep a little before we move him."

A moment later, she took back the blanket, and Casavir picked up Marcus and carried him to his lean-to. After wrapping him in the blanket and making sure that he still slept soundly, Casavir turned to face The Lady.

"Will you be able to sleep, my lady?" he asked her.

"I think so, Cas," she replied. "The sight and smell of so many bodies was upsetting, but I'll be all right. I know they died horrible deaths, and that saddens me, of course, but they feel no pain where they have gone."

"And Nya's... request?" Casavir asked hesitantly.

"I did what she asked, Cas," she said. "I promised her that I would, and it's done. I know that they were never in danger of rising as undead, but we don't have the resources to care for the bodies in any other way."

"And tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow we will ride to Port Llast," she said. "We won't make the village by nightfall, but we will get there the day after. We'll make sure that the innkeeper will take in Marcus, pay Nya a visit, and hopefully, we'll be halfway back to Ember before we have to make camp again. We'll leave the horses in Port Llast. Marcus said that the men who destroyed Ember fled through the caverns under the village, and I'm hoping that Bishop can find traces of them there."

"So we must be obligated to the ranger?" Casavir scowled.

"Would you rather see me hang?" she asked.

"No, my lady!" he gasped. "Of course not. It's just that we know which way they fled... I see. My lady, I understand that we must bring a ranger with us. Would you not rather recruit Malin for the task? She might track the murderers as easily as Bishop."

"And you would be comfortable having her with you, knowing that she might creep into your bedroll at any time?"

She stepped close to him then, wrapping her arms about him. She brought her face nearer. He could feel her breath against his neck, and it sent shivers through him. For a moment, he closed his eyes and stood motionless, savoring the thrill of her proximity.

"There is another way you can protect me from Bishop," she whispered.

"What must I do?" he breathed.

"He wanted nothing to do with Malin, after she touched you," she said softly, her voice once more taking on the dangerous, seductive tone that had unsettled him two nights before. "Lie with me, and let it be known that you have, and I'll never be troubled by Bishop again."

He froze in shock at her suggestion, but he did not flee.

It was a simple thing that she asked of him. He knew that he cared deeply for her, that he would provide for her and cherish her. Lying with her would bind him to her, but he was already bound. He would be gentle with her, and after he had secured her safety, he would never impose himself on her again. He would hurt her, but only once, and it would spare her from greater pain and degradation at Bishop's hands. All he had to do was give in.

For a moment, his will wavered. He bent to bring his lips near hers, and stood still, almost, but not quite, kissing her.

And what of the Duty? Once, he felt that he must remain distant to serve her, but now he knew that he could not. He must be close to her, so that he could be her confidant as well as her protector. Now, he had the chance to remove her from one kind of danger forever.

But what could he give her? He could never love her as a husband. He was not her equal. He was bound to her as a servant to a master, and that was just. He was obligated to serve her, but he was not worthy of courting her. He had resolved that long ago, and nothing had changed. Their friendship had deepened, but he was still the same flawed man that he always was... and he still allowed his lust to rule him when he should be focused on her quest.

He was mad, to even contemplate her request. He could never hurt her, not even once, simply to satisfy his own desire. Because it would not stop at "once." His yearning for her would be undiminished, and having surrendered once, he would do so again and again, and she would suffer for his appetite.

"I cannot," he said sadly.

She sighed, and lay her head against his chest. Her embrace relaxed, but she did not release him.

"I know," she sighed. "Poor Cas. You can't let yourself be happy."

His arms tightened convulsively around her. He wanted to weep. Still, as miserable as he was, he was not inconsolable. She had not released him from her embrace, and he clung to her in return. Her continued presence comforted him.

"My lady, will you stay?" he heard himself ask. He hated himself for his weakness in asking her, after he had just refused her, but he wanted her closeness, even if he could not lie with her.

"If Marcus were not there, I would," she said. "But it wouldn't be right, sharing your blanket while he slept so close. Another night, dear one."

Stretching on her toes, she kissed the underside of his chin, then released him and walked away. It was still Eleasis, but he was cool, suddenly. He lay down beside Marcus and closed his eyes. He was eager for the oblivion of sleep, but it was long before he found it. He had done the right thing, he knew, but it certainly felt wrong.


	52. Pretrial Jitters

Disclaimer: Obsidian owns everyone but Kayla.

* * *

They arrived back in Neverwinter more than a tenday before their alloted month was up. Kayla feared that the time would blunt any advantage they had gained, so she petitioned Lord Nasher that her trial might be moved up. Lord Nasher, after consultation with Sir Nevalle about the court schedule and consultation with Torio Claven about the prosecution's state of preparedness, allowed that her case might be heard on the second day after her arrival. Kayla half-expected Sand to object and ask for a couple more days, but he seemed as pleased as Kayla that it would all be over soon.

"We'll have a few preparations to make," Sand conceded, reaching for his wineglass. Sand, Casavir, Shandra and Duncan had taken their dinner in the privacy of Kayla's room. Kayla wanted to go over everything one more time, and Duncan had joined them to hear how things were going.

"We have everything we need, don't we?" Kayla asked.

"Well," Sand mused, "there are a few wardrobe considerations."

"Wardrobe, Sand?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes, wardrobe," Sand nodded. "Most of the court will never have seen you before. They will form their initial impression of you, and possibly decide your guilt or innocence, within moments of your entering the courtroom. You have no idea how glad I am that you look younger than you are. Put you in full dress vestments and wear your hair loose, and you'll look like a child saint."

"That's wonderful, Sand," Kayla rolled her eyes, then looked sidelong at Casavir. Maybe that was his problem, if he saw _that_ every time he looked at her.

"It is for you," Sand said crisply. "I wish I dared put you in a white gown instead, but that would be overdoing it, I think. No, my dear, I will have no trouble making you look like the innocent creature you are. The rest of us, however, may have to put more effort into our costumes to suit them to our roles."

"Who else will be making an appearance?" she asked.

"I will, obviously," Sand said. "Fortunately, I already possess robes more than suitable for the occasion. Shandra will have to testify, so she will need to look like a farmer. A simple gown, I think, in brown or green."

"I've got a green dress," Shandra said. "But farmers don't dress like that. They wear tunics with leggings."

"You'll wear a dress in court," Sand insisted. "And Casavir will wear his armor, though we'll have to get him a new gambeson. He offends at fifty paces, and that won't do for your stainless champion and ever-vigilant attendant. We should also borrow a clean surcoat from the temple."

"Will you call Casavir to testify?" Kayla asked, surprised.

"Has he left your side since you met?" Sand asked.

"Only to sleep," Kayla replied.

"Hmmm, well, that's unfortunate," he tut-tutted. "Still, I doubt anyone would suggest you somehow slaughtered Ember while he slept."

"Would you mind testifying, Cas?" she asked. "I know you don't like crowds, or people staring at you."

"I will do anything to help you, my lady," he assured her. "And as Tyr's servant, I should be obligated to bear witness, in any case."

"Hmf," Shandra snorted. "I don't hear anybody asking me if I mind."

"Do you?" Kayla turned to face her.

"Well, no," she admitted, "not really, unless there's a lot of people."

"There will be," Kayla said dryly. "A case like this, the room will be packed."

"Oh," Shandra sighed. "Still, you need me, right?"

"I do, Shandra," Kayla said.

"Then I'll do it," Shandra said.

"Thanks," Kayla said, sighing in relief.

"Shall we go over the evidence?" Sand asked. "I want to make sure it's all here and that Grobnar has not done anything frivolous with the alteration powder."

"I'd like to see what you found," Duncan interjected.

"Like you'd ever leave this hole," Sand scowled, though there was no malice in his tone. "Your own niece is accused of slaughtering a village, and will you even close up shop for the afternoon?"

"No," Duncan admitted, "but I'll be there. I'm leaving Sal in charge. The place probably won't be standing when I get back, but I wouldn't miss the trial."

"Hmf," Sand snorted.

"The evidence?" Duncan reminded him.

"Yes," Sand said, setting a parcel on the table and opening it. "Starting with the physical evidence, we have the ring the goblins found on the murderers who fled through the Glowstone Caverns, and the one that came from the assassins who attacked Kayla in Solace Glade. That identifies them as members of the Brotherhood of Swords, a Luskan assassin's guild. Combine that with the poisoned priest we found in Ember, and that ties the crime very strongly to Luskan assassins. We also have the alteration powder we got from the Shadow Druid in Duskwood... I do wish you could have been persuaded to let her live, Kayla. Her testimony would have been valuable. Who cares if you steal from goblins?"

"It was their holy symbol," Casavir defended her. "They worshiped it, and they were living in those caverns quite peacefully. And the druid would still be alive, had she not attacked us first. We are only fortunate that we had Elanee with us, or those mountain lions would have proven troublesome."

"Yes, yes," Sand went on, "and that's about it for the physical evidence, though it will be enough, I think. We also can count on Marcus as our secret weapon. He did make it here, didn't he, Duncan?"

"He got here yesterday," Duncan said. "With a woman and a pair of servants. She packed the lad off to bed early, though, or you'd have seen them."

"Was he well?" Kayla asked anxiously. "He's been through a lot."

"He's fine, lass," Duncan said. "The woman makes a big fuss over him, but he was playing with the porter's children out in the courtyard this morning, and he seems perfectly happy."

"I'm glad to hear that," Kayla smiled.

"And you'll be pleased to hear who else has turned up," Duncan continued.

"Who?" Sand demanded. "I don't like surprises, Duncan. If you've got somebody hiding here, I want to know."

"Keep your robe on," Duncan laughed. "It's a woman from Port Llast. She said she knows you, and she wanted to help you out in the trial. Her name is Nya."

"Nya's here?" Kayla grinned. "That is good news. I don't know what help she can give us, but it will be good to see her again."

"She had a lot of nice things to say about you, once she found out you were my niece," Duncan said. "She told me about what you did for the poor bastards at Ember, making sure they wouldn't turn into zombies."

"That is a pleasant surprise," Sand said, "she can give a positive character witness at the trial. You need all the help you can get. But between Nya, Shandra, and Casavir, I think we can prove that you're a good person."

"Speaking of Casavir, she had a message for you," Duncan went on. "She sent this. It's an Amulet of the Doomguide, or something like that. She said she's had it for a long time, and she hopes you can find some use for it, but that the original owner has come back, so she doesn't need it anymore."

"'The original owner has come back'?" Kayla repeated. "See, Cas? I was right! He did come back to her! She wasn't traveling alone, was she?"

"Nope," Duncan grinned, "she had a priest with her. They didn't take rooms here, though. She said they would be staying at the temple until after the trial, and then she'd be going with him to some eastern city that begins with an M."

"You were right, my lady," Casavir said softly.

She blinked. She felt something touch her leg, and then she felt a weight in her lap. Casavir had placed his hand there. She took it and gave it a squeeze.

"Well, if that's everything, I'm going to go back to my shop for the night, and make sure the guardian elemental I set has managed to keep everything running smoothly in my absence." Sand drained the rest of his wine and set the cup back on the table.

Kayla and Duncan bid him good night, but Casavir rose, following him out of the room.

"I shall walk with you," Casavir said. "I wanted to speak with Elanee, and I understand that she went to your shop as soon as we got here."

"Probably already at work making more antidotes," Sand said. "You do go through them."

"What do you want with Elanee, Cas?" Kayla asked him. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, my lady," Casavir answered, not looking at her, "I only wished to consult with her about some herbs. If you will excuse me, I should like to call on you again before you retire."

"I'll be up for a while," she replied. "How about you Shandra? Will you stay up, or are you turning in, too?"

"I'm beat," Shandra yawned. "I'll stay up with you tomorrow, but tonight, all I want to do is sleep."

"All right, all right," Kayla waved them all out of her room, though she could not help feeling a bit panicked at the thought of being alone. "Will you keep me company a while, Duncan, or are you going to leave me, too?"

"I'll sit with you a bit, lass," Duncan smiled at her. "I haven't seen you for the better part of a month, and you've barely told me anything about your travels."

"Thanks," she said gratefully. "I always hate leaving the Flagon, and it will be good to catch up on what everybody's been doing while we've been gone."

"Probably about the same as they were when you left," Duncan poured himself more wine and topped up her cup. "Not much changes around here. Still, I suppose we can talk about that until Cas gets back. Did he take good care of you on the road?"

"You know he did," Kayla sighed. "He always takes good care of me."

"But?" Duncan prompted gently.

"But that's all there is," she said. "I guess you know how I feel about him."

"I've got some idea," Duncan admitted, "but why don't you tell me, anyway, in case I'm wrong."

"He means a lot to me," Kayla said. "More than a lot, really. But he isn't willing to let things move forward, if you know what I mean."

"And it isn't something you want to talk about with me?" Duncan suggested.

"Not really, no," Kayla said apologetically.

"I understand," Duncan said sympathetically. "And Bishop behaved himself?"

"As well as can be expected," Kayla snorted. "He and Cas are at each other's throats every minute of every day, and that gets old quick, but you know how it goes."

"That I do," Duncan nodded. "Does Bishop... er... never mind. Cas wouldn't let him get away with any of that rot, so there's no point in asking."

"Do you know Cas actually threatened to sleep outside my bedroom door?" Kayla asked, chuckling at the ridiculousness of it.

"You let him in, didn't you?" Duncan asked, raising an eyebrow, but looking uncomfortable. "I mean, you didn't make him sleep out there on the floor all night?"

"Well, no," Kayla admitted, "but he probably would have, if he hadn't been beaten so badly."

"Whoa, now," Duncan stopped her. "Somebody beat up Cas?"

"We had... a disagreement, and he went out for a walk." Now it was Kayla's turn to be evasive. "He was walking along the wharf, and he decided to help some longshoremen offload a barge -"

"You're joking," Duncan rolled his eyes.

"I'm not," she said, "anyway, they weren't longshoremen, and they beat him to within an inch of his life."

"Why?" Duncan asked. "I mean, what has Cas ever done to anybody, to make them want to hurt him like that?"

"They meant it as a warning to me," Kayla sighed. "They wanted me to give up and go back to Neverwinter. Anyway, he wouldn't let me heal him until morning, so I stayed with him... until he would."

"You've been staying with him an awful lot, lately, from the sound of things," Duncan observed. "Whose idea is that, if he doesn't want to do things you wouldn't want to talk about with your uncle?"

"Before we went to Ember, it was usually his," she admitted. "Now, it's me asking him to stay, though he seems disappointed if I don't."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Duncan scratched his beard. "I mean, you said he doesn't want to be lovers, so asking him to stay all the time might sound like you're pressuring him."

"I know," Kayla sighed miserably. "It's just that I really, really don't want to be alone right now. When I'm with him, I'm thinking about how glad I am that he's there, but when I'm alone, all I can think about is what's going to happen if I lose the trial... "

"You aren't going to lose the trial," Duncan reassured her.

"I know, but when I'm all by myself, and it's just the dark closing in on me, it's real easy to forget that. When Cas is there, I know nothing can touch me, and I feel safe. Now that I think about it, I can only remember two nights he hasn't stayed with me, since we arrived in Port Llast. The first was the night we found Marcus. Marcus was sharing his tent, and it didn't seem right. The second was just a few days ago. He and Bishop had been arguing, as usual, and I was too annoyed with the pair of them to want Cas near, and I tossed and turned all night. Honestly, though, if it weren't for Cas, I wouldn't be sleeping at all."

"Do you want to move him in here until after the trial?" Duncan asked. "The room is big enough for both of you."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Kayla replied. "Thanks for the offer, but I think he likes to maintain the fiction of having separate quarters. He's odd about some things."

"Suit yourself," Duncan shrugged. "But it sounds like you've been doing a good job fooling the rest of us, acting like you don't care a whit about the trial."

"It's strange," Kayla sighed. "I can't think about anything else, but I really want to. I'll even listen to Qara talk about herself, if it gives me something to think about that doesn't involve ropes or short, sudden drops."

"Listening to Qara, eh?" Duncan rolled his eyes sympathetically. "I hadn't realized it was that bad. So what do you want? What will get you through tomorrow?"

"I don't want to be alone," she said. "You don't need to entertain me, or anything special. I just want other people around."

"Well, I think we can manage that," Duncan smiled. "Now let me tell you what happened with Sal, last week. I didn't think we'd ever get the soot off the ceiling."

* * *

Casavir found Elanee already at work, brewing something that smelled foul.

"What are you making?" he asked, hoping that Sand would leave them alone so he could talk to Elanee undisturbed.

"Choking powder," Elanee replied.

"It seems to be working," Casavir coughed. "Elanee, I wondered if I might speak with you about a matter that requires considerable discretion."

"Of course, Casavir," she said. "Just let me add the last ingredient and take it off the fire, and we're all done here. Do you want to talk here, or would you rather go in the back?"

"Here will suit," Casavir answered, "though it might be wise to keep our voices down. Are you aware of the regard I hold for our leader?"

"You haven't exactly been making a secret of it," Elanee smiled. "But you don't need my help with that. She could tell you about cassil herb as easily as I can."

"You mistake my intention," Casavir felt himself redden. "My affections for her are not so base... or I wish they were not. Can you... can you recommend anything that might make it easier for me to be calm in her presence?"

"I understand that it usually takes human males some time to recover from mating," Elanee said. "If you satisfied your urges more often, you would be 'calmer' afterward."

"I cannot!" Casavir hissed, trying to keep his voice steady. "I need a way to reduce my... urges... and I cannot give in to them."

"It isn't healthy to suppress what's natural, Cas," she said.

"Please, Elanee," he sighed, "can you help me?"

She looked at him steadily for several heartbeats. Casavir found that he was holding his breath.

"Very well," she said with something that sounded like reluctance, and took something out of a drawer. "If you're determined to punish yourself, there isn't anything I can do to stop you. This herb won't prevent you from becoming aroused, but it will make it easier for you to overcome it."

"How much do I take?" he asked gratefully, seizing the bag.

"Enough to cover the bottom of a cup," she said. "No more than once a day, mind, and you'll want to mix it with strong wine – a whole cup, at least – to kill the taste. It's going to make you a little sleepy, though, so you're better off not taking it at all, or if you must, take it right before bed."

"Thank you," Casavir said, sighing happily. "Now, if you will excuse me, I should see that she is settled comfortably."

* * *

"What did he want?" Sand asked Elanee once Casavir was gone.

"He wanted something to take the edge off his appetite," Elanee laughed.

"Odd he should ask for that," Sand shrugged, putting some potions back on the shelf. "Unless it's breakfast meats, he doesn't overeat."

"Not that kind of appetite," Elanee smiled.

"Oh, ho!" Sand chuckled. "So he is human, after all. The whole trip, I kept wondering if he was going to explode from all that tension. What did you give him?"

"Mustard leaves," Elanee replied.

"That won't help," Sand snorted.

"I know," she said, "nothing will. But he'll think it will, and that's all that matters. I picked something strongly flavored, so he'll taste it, but he'll probably take a lot of it, so it had to be harmless. With mustard greens, even if he eats the whole bag, the worst it will give him will be wind."

"Wicked woman," Sand chuckled approvingly. As entertaining as Casavir's bumbling courtship was, it was becoming stale, and it was a distraction when neither of them needed it.

"You could have given him anything, though," Sand mused.

"I know," Elanee admitted. "I thought about giving him the cassil herb, after all. The stimulation it provides might be enough to get him past his reservations. But Kayla would recognize it, and it didn't feel right to deceive him that much."

"You're probably right," Sand sighed. "Still, I can't help thinking we'd all be better off if we just got the pair of them drunk, stripped them naked, and locked them in a room together until they just got it out of their systems. Speaking of drink, Elanee, I found a bottle of elverquisst under the counter, and I wondered if you'd like to share it with me."

"I'd love to Sand," Elanee agreed. "Here, I'll just put these potions away, and I'll join you in the back."

* * *

Casavir trotted back up the stairs of the Sunken Flagon, but he hesitated at The Lady's door. What would he find on the other side?

He had asked that question of himself every time he entered her presence, these last two tendays. She was trying to be brave, he knew, but her anxieties were taking their toll, as were his own.

He knew they had done all they could to assemble her case. They had overlooked nothing, yet he could not pretend her danger was not real. Her defense was a house of cards, and a stray draft would undo her. If they could undermine Alaine's testimony that she had seen The Lady, could not Torio call similar doubts on Marcus' word that he had seen another? Yes, they had the alteration powder to support that hypothesis, but alteration powder could be found among the stock of any potion seller. Sand carried it in his own store. As Sand had so eloquently stated, without corroboration from the Shadow Druid, a bag of alteration powder might as well be pixie dust.

And if she was found guilty... no he could not think of that...

No, evasion served no one. If she was found guilty, she would hang. He would lose her forever.

Idly, he wondered if her companions would be spared. He, certainly, would not wish to live, but others of her companions need not share that fate. Khelgar would grieve, but he had a life waiting for him with his clan. Sand's life would go on as it had before. Shandra would go back to her farm, as there would be no one left who wanted to go to her grandfather's haven.

And what would he do? He had learned long ago that wishing to die would not make it happen.

A memory surfaced in his troubled mind, of the books of law he had studied as a novice. In Neverwinter, the accused always had their last, most desperate appeal, or another might invoke the rite on their behalf. No, Casavir need not fear the prospect of a life without her, even if the courts failed to perceive her innocence.

How long had he stood in the corridor? Surely long enough to distress her, if she had heard his step outside her door. And he had been gone longer than he should. Especially these last few days, she became anxious if he absented himself for longer than it took him to bathe and shave, and clung to him alarmingly on his return. This neediness, as much as his own natural attraction to her, had necessitated his visit to Elanee. It was difficult enough keeping himself in check, with only her usual charms to distract him, but her increased vulnerability had done nothing but fuel his longing for her.

So he must go in to her, and he must do it now.

He took several deep, steadying breaths. He needed to put his own anxieties about her wellbeing aside, for the moment, and be calm and confident. She needed him to be her rock, steadfast and unyielding, even in the face of her fears. Where would he find the strength?

_Put your trust in me,_ said his faith.

He seized on the words gratefully. What greater strength had he ever needed? His unshakable belief that justice would always prevail put the iron back in his spine and gave him the confidence to face the woman who relied on him. Tyr would never abandon his servant, nor would he forsake the wrongfully accused.

He opened the door.

The Lady and Duncan were still chatting companionably when Casavir entered the room.

"And here's Cas," Duncan said, rising and kissing his niece. "And you'll be wanting your rest, so I won't keep you any longer. I'll have Sal send up another bottle of wine... I seem to have drunk most of the last one... and I'll see you in the morning. G'night."

"Good night, Uncle," Kayla replied, closing the door behind her departing uncle. "Did you find Elanee? You were gone so long, I feared you wouldn't come back."

"I will always return," Casavir replied, seating himself at the table. He picked up the cup he had used before, but he had drained it before going to find Elanee. He wondered how he could take the herbs without telling The Lady what he did, but decided that honesty was better than deception. "And I did find Elanee. She has given me something that will enable me to spend time alone in your presence in greater comfort."

He opened the bag she had given him and shook a little of the dried herb into the bottom of the cup. He looked at it a moment, then added twice as much again. Until he discovered how efficacious the herb was, he would do well to err on the side of caution.

"Drugs, Casavir?" The Lady said disapprovingly. "I'd hate to think you can't spend a few moments in my company without the help of drugs."

"I need no drugs to enjoy your company, my lady," he assured her, taking her hand, but focusing his attention on the ring she wore, rather than on the softness of her skin or the gracefulness of her fingers. "Say rather that I enjoy it more than I can endure."

"Oh," she said, shyly averting her eyes. "What is it?"

"She did not say," Casavir replied. "Have you any wine to mix with this?"

"I drank the last of it with Duncan," she replied, "but he said he'd send up more."

"What shall we talk about tonight, my lady?" he asked. "Shall I bring out my chessboard?"

"Anything but that!" she laughed. "You'll be laughing at me from now until Shieldmeet if I agree to a game with you now. Tell me a story, Cas, something to make me laugh."

"You have heard all my stories, my lady," Casavir sighed, "and I am not certain I can bestir myself to mirth... under the circumstances."

"No," she sighed, "I don't suppose you could."

"Should I summon Bishop, my lady?" he asked, only partially in jest. "Perhaps my humiliation at his hands would amuse you."

"Not tonight, Cas," she said wearily. "I'm tired, Cas. Tired, footsore, and aching. I know I need to sleep, but I can't..."

"Then remove your boots, my lady," he smiled. "If you are footsore, that, at least I may ease."

The eagerness with which she complied with his request made him smile. She was a physical creature, The Lady, for all that she was also a spiritual one. Easing her mortal aches might well help her other anxieties.

She sat on the chair opposite him and put her bare feet in his lap. She had beautiful feet, he thought, small and slender, like her hands, and delightfully soft to touch. He bent eagerly to the task of rubbing them, though her moans and sighs of pleasure made him long for the preparation that would bring him relief.

At last, the wine arrived, and he stopped rubbing her feet long enough to mix the powdered herb with it, then tapped in a little more of the herb for good measure. He drained the cup.

Elanee had been right about the foul taste. He poured more wine into the cup, swirled it until the dregs were suspended in the wine, and drank that, too.

"Now that your feet are tended, shall I ease your back, my lady?" he asked her.

"You do like living dangerously, don't you, Cas?" she smiled softly at him. "Why don't you make sure it works before you find out the hard way that it doesn't?"

"You are wise, my lady," he agreed. He felt something working, in any case. It could have been the wine he had drunk, but he felt warm and mellow, and oddly content.

She got up and stood behind him, allowing her fragrant, still-damp hair to fall around his shoulders. She bent lower, then, and he felt her lips graze the side of his neck. He shuddered, and felt himself begin to stir.

"It would appear to work less well than I had hoped, my lady," he sighed. "Yet I should be able to retain my composure long enough to help you relax. The last two tendays have been hard on you, and the next two days will likely be little better."

"If you can do it without making yourself miserable, I'd appreciate it," she said. "Can you work through my shirt?"

"It would be best," he admitted.

She moved away from him, and he heard her lie on the bed. He got up and sat beside her.

He worked gently, careful to avoid hurting her. He was accustomed to kneading the muscles of hardened warriors, not slender young women.

"You can go a little harder, Cas," she said into her pillow.

_I hardly think I could,_ he thought, though he knew she spoke of the massage he was giving her, not the state of his manhood.

Nevertheless, he increased the pressure slightly, and was rewarded with moans that went straight to his libido. If Elanee's herb was working at all, he could not tell. He was having all he could do to avoid imitating Bishop, and sliding his hand between her legs.

He was powerless to suppress the memory of that, but this time, in his mind, it was his hand between her silken thighs, and his fingertips caressing her secret rosebud, and she did not lie silent before him, but moaning her pleas that he should not stop.

"Mmmmm... I think you're enjoying this as much as I am, Cas," she moaned. "Ooh, yesss, right there... don't stop..."

He groaned himself. He felt himself straining against his leggings... yet he could not tell her of his discomfort, or he would frighten her, yet as long as he continued to stroke her, there was only one way his own predicament could end. He leaned further over her, allowing himself to press more firmly against the fabric. He rocked back and forth with every stroke, and felt his body respond to the motion. She, too, seemed to take pleasure in the movement, as her sighs became more frequent, and more stirring to him. At last, he was at the end of his endurance. He shuddered violently.

"Are you all right, Cas?" she asked. "You twitched just now like you were stung."

"A passing chill," he gasped, wishing that he had shown more restraint. His heart was still pounding, and his breathing, far faster and deeper than a massage would have warranted.

"Come on, then," she sighed, turning so that she lay on her side. "Lie down beside me, and get some rest... Cas? Are you sure you're all right? You're very red, and you're breathing awfully hard."

"I am well, my lady," he insisted, mortally ashamed of himself, but turning away from her on the pretext of unlacing his boots.

He felt her sit up in the bed behind him. She lay one cool hand on his forehead, and another touched his neck, feeling his pulse.

"Your heart is racing, Cas," she said in concern, "and you're all sweaty... Oh, gods, dear one, I think she must have given you poison by mistake!"

"No, my lady..." he protested, wincing at the lies he had told, and the ones he still would tell. "She has not. I am certain of it. It is only that the herb was less effective than I hoped it might be."

"No, Cas," she said, turning him to face her. "Even when you get yourself worked up, you aren't this bad. Something is very, very wrong here. Do you feel faint?"

"No, my lady," he groaned, "I feel... tired. I should rest, I think."

"Do you think you could make yourself throw up?" she suggested. "I mean, it's probably through your system already, but some of it might still be in your stomach."

"Look at my face, my lady," he said as reassuringly as he could manage, "I am already calmer. Hold my hand. It does not tremble, and my pulse is slower now. Whatever it was, it has passed."

"So it has," she admitted, though she clung to his hand. "You are less red than you were a moment ago, and you're breathing sounds better. But I still think you should stay here tonight... and promise me you won't take any of that awful herb again."

"Very well," he sighed, conceding that he might as well promise, as it had done him no good, anyway.

"Then I'll help you take off your things," she said, pushing his shirt up over his back.

He allowed her to remove his shirt, but when she got to his leggings, he held up a hand to stop her.

"These stay," he said firmly.

"If that's the way you want it," she shrugged. "Get your legs up, and slide under the linens. Let me just put out the lamp and make myself more comfortable, and I'll be right beside you."

She rose, and he heard her moving around the room while he settled himself in her bed. The room was plunged in darkness, as she put out the lamp. A moment later, she was beside him, with her arms around him and her cheek pressed against his chest.

"I hear your heartbeat," she whispered. "It sounds much better now."

"Yes, my lady," he agreed, and tucked the blanket under her chin. He sighed. One way or another, he would be calm tonight. If Elanee's herb had done him no good, she was correct in her assertion that he would not be plagued by his desires now... not for a while, anyway.

"Are you frightened, my lady?" he asked her gently. "Of the coming trial?"

"A little," she admitted, her voice quavering. "I feel anxious, and I wish it was all over. I have every confidence in Sand, but... Right now, I just want to get through the next couple days, and keep as busy, and as distracted, as possible. I don't want to be alone, Cas."

"Then I shall remain by your side," he assured her in his softest, calmest voice, stroking her hair.

"Cas..." she breathed, "tomorrow may be the last day of my life."

"No, my lady," he replied softly, though his arms tightened around her reflexively, as if simply by holding her tighter, he could keep her from harm. "We have our lives before us, you and I. Justice is on your side, and Tyr will not abandon you... nor will I. Have faith, my lady."

"Tell me what we will do tomorrow," she asked him, her voice barely a audible.

"We will call on Marcus in the morning," he whispered in answer, swallowing the lump that had risen in his throat, "and we will make sure his journey was peaceful, and then we will get you your vestments, so you can dress the way Sand wants you to dress, and you will look like the angel that I know you are, and we will visit the armorer for my new gambeson, so I cease offending at fifty paces. And then, we will call at the Hall of Justice to offer prayers for your deliverance. And if you like, we may call on Nya and her lover, and you can say 'I told you so' to me until you grow hoarse. And then, we will dine with Cormick and Kaiya, and return to the Flagon for a quiet evening and a good night's rest."

"And you'll stay with me the whole time?" she murmured sleepily.

"Every moment," he promised, kissing her forehead.

"Then I am not afraid," she sighed, and relaxed in his arms, drifting off to sleep.

* * *

_Note: Thanks to my beta-reader, who has a very good eye for what is missing._


	53. The Rite of Tyr

_Disclaimer: Everybody but Kayla belongs to Obsidian. I'm taking some liberties with Prior Hlam; hope nobody minds._

* * *

Kayla stood still, dumbstruck, not even hearing Sir Nevalle's words as he cleared the courtroom. Someone took her arm, and tugged on it gently.

"That Banshee!" Sand's voice rang in her ears, jarring her. She turned toward the sound. "I hoped she wouldn't know about that."

"Come on, Kayla," said Shandra's voice, accompanied by another futile yank on her arm, "just a couple steps, and we can get out of here."

"See you in the morning," said a deep, harsh voice. Lorne Starling's voice. "I'll make you answer for your crimes, even if Neverwinter's eyes are blind."

"Come away, my lady," a familiar, well-loved voice urged her. "Lean on me, now. It is not far."

A strong arm wrapped itself around her waist, supporting her. She threw her own arm around its owner's broad back and allowed him to lead her, though she could not even see where she placed her feet.

Her knees began to buckle, but the arm around her tightened, bearing her up.

"Help her," Casavir's voice pleaded.

She recoiled and blinked as something pungent was waved under her nose.

"Snap out of it, Kayla," Sand's voice instructed her crisply. "We need to leave now."

The room came back into focus. Casavir stood on one side, and it was his arm that supported her, and Shandra stood on the other. Sand stood in front of her, extending an open vial of something acrid under her nose.

She turned her head in time to see a giant of a man striding away from her, Torio Claven beside him.

"I need to sit down," Kayla found her voice.

"Come to my house," Sir Grayson said, appearing next to Casavir. "We can't stay here, and it isn't far. Shandra, I can help Cas, and the others will be anxious. Tell them she's fine, and that we'll send word shortly."

The arm around her waist shifted slightly, and another was placed behind her knees. With a lurch and a jerk, Casavir scooped her into his arms. She simply threw her own arms about his neck and sobbed.

She won! How was it possible that she was still going to die?

* * *

When next Kayla knew what was going on around her, she was lying on a couch in a vaguely familiar, well-furnished room. Casavir knelt beside her, bending over her and holding her hand, and Sir Grayson and Sand stood nearby. Somebody was behind her, clinking glassware together.

"There now," Sand said, "she's back to herself again. Give her some air, Casavir."

Casavir withdrew a little, though he knelt by her, still. Someone pressed a cup into his hand, and he offered it to her, holding it against her lips. She took a sip, but choked on the spirits.

"Easy now," Sir Barret rumbled behind her, "a little bit at a time, until you have your bearings."

She took another sip, and lay back on the cushions.

"I'm sorry," she stammered. "It's just that it happened so fast."

"I know," Sand replied sympathetically, though he rolled his eyes. "I don't think any of us saw that coming, though I should have know to expect something underhanded from that snake."

"But I won!" she protested.

"I know," Sand sighed. "And you did very well on the witness stand, presenting an eloquent, logical, and concise defense of your actions I do believe I might have learned a thing or two. And no one could say that the court was unmoved by those who spoke on your behalf."

"You were brilliant, Sand," Kayla said, blushing at the lateness of her thanks. "I can't thank you enough for everything you did for me, or for how well you did it."

"It's nice to see somebody appreciates my talents," Sand said with very little modesty, though Kayla could not fault him for that. He had defended her masterfully. "It's only a shame that the viper found that loophole."

"I knew it existed," Casavir murmured, with the air of one confessing a terrible secret. "Forgive me, my lady. I should have prepared you. Had the trial gone ill, I planned to invoke the Rite myself, and prove your innocence with my body."

"You... you knew?" Kayla stammered. "You told me I only had to win the trial..."

"My lady, I... " Casavir began.

"Forgive me for my ignorance," Sir Barret interrupted, sounding enough like Casavir to make Kayla look twice to be sure who was speaking, "but I was unable to get close enough to hear the verdict. What happened?"

"Kayla won a clear and irrefutable judgment," Sir Grayson summarized for his lover, "but Torio invoked the Rite of Tyr. Trial by Combat. The just decision of the court is suspended, and all will be decided on the morrow, when Kayla or her champion faces Torio's champion, Lorne Starling, in the arena."

"And Lord Nasher allowed this?" Sir Barret asked incredulously. "He claims to be above such barbarism."

"He wasn't happy about it," Sir Grayson replied, "but he has no choice. The law has not been repealed, so it was one possible outcome."

"Justice will prevail," Sir Barret said confidently, laying a comforting hand on Kayla's shoulder. "Be at peace, daughter, Tyr will not abandon you."

"That's easy for you to say," Kayla groaned, "but I don't stand a chance against Lorne, and I know it."

"You are not friendless, my lady," Casavir said firmly. "Undergo the Rite, and present yourself at the Hall of Justice at the appointed hour. Though I have no doubt you could best Lorne or any other that... that demon... sends against you, the cause of the Just is no solitary path. You will not want for a champion. I -"

"Hush, Casavir," Sand said sternly. "It isn't the time for that. She'll have an opportunity to choose her champion tomorrow morning, after she's heard from _everybody_ who wants the honor. I expect she'll be spoiled for choice."

"I can't believe it was Lorne," Kayla said quietly. Casavir was still trying to get her to drink the spirits, but she took the cup and set it aside, and held his hand instead. "Poor Cormick!"

"My lady?" Casavir prompted her.

"Lorne Starling is Bevil's brother and Retta's son," Kayla explained. "He was Cormick's best friend. I can't even imagine what he must be suffering, knowing what Lorne has become."

"Every man is responsible for his own choices," Casavir reminded her gently. "Cormick is not to blame, if Lorne turned to evil."

"I know, Cas," she sighed, "but what am I going to tell his mother?"

"You will know when the time comes," Sir Grayson said. "Right now, we just have to get you back on your feet, and ready for the Rite."

"I'm feeling better, Sir Grayson," she said, sitting up. "What do I have to do to prepare?"

"Change into your armor and present yourself at the Hall of Justice," Sir Grayson replied. "Prior Hlam will tell you all else that is required of you. You might want to rest first, and eat something. You'll be all night in that chapel, and that's a long time to go without food or sleep."

"I don't think I could sleep," she protested. "And you know everybody is going to want an explanation."

"Rest here a while, then, and we will send for your armor and weapons," Sir Barret suggested. "I will send my squire with word that you are well, but delayed. It would be better if you spoke with none of your companions before the Rite."

"No need to send your squire," Sand said. "I will go myself. I have an errand or two along the way, and Shandra can bring your gear back."

With that, it was decided. Sand left, Sir Barret rang for refreshments, and Kayla lay back on the couch, staring at the ceiling and wondering when any of this was going to start making sense.

To her surprise, she was able to rest. Sir Grayson put her in a cool, darkened bedroom and left her alone, and Casavir stayed with her, holding her and whispering soft, unintelligible things to her until she drifted off to sleep.

It was Shandra who woke her, several candles later.

"I didn't know what to bring, so I brought everything," Shandra said, dumping a jumbled load of gear on the bed. "I don't suppose you'd consider taking up daggers as your primary weapons? Hammers, maces, and greatswords make for a lot to carry. I left the weapons in the dining room, but I had to borrow a handcart from the porter to get here from the Flagon."

"Thanks, Shandra," Kayla replied mechanically, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Casavir was already up, putting his armor back on and trying to stay out of Shandra's way. "What did the others say?"

"Khelgar's beside himself," Shandra laughed, "but I suppose you'll hear from him soon enough, and Grobnar's tuning his lute and thinking up obscenities that rhyme with Claven -"

"Remind me never to offend a bard!" Kayla chuckled in spite of her anxiety.

"Yeah, but that's no drawback in her line of work," Shandra shrugged.

"It doesn't matter anyway," Kayla sighed. "Grobnar can smear her name from here to Waterdeep, but that won't improve my chances of beating Lorne."

"Y'know, Kayla," Shandra began, "I've been meaning to talk to you about that..."

"Impossible," Casavir interrupted. "As your weapons master, I fear I must disallow your offer, as I do not feel your skill has advanced to the level where you might accept the challenge on our leader's behalf."

"In other words, I have to wait in line," Shandra sighed. "I've already heard excuses from Khelgar and Sand, though I have to say yours has been the most insulting. Anyway, I can still put in my bid during the Rite. It's up to Kayla who she picks, O Master of the Baleful Glare."

"Stop it!" Kayla snapped. "I am not going to stand here, listening to the pair of you deciding who gets to die. This is my fight, and my life. I'm on trial here, not either of you. If you want to put my mind at ease, tell me instead how you'll live your lives, once I'm dead."

Shandra and Casavir both stared at her, mouths agape, but she ignored them, and concentrated on arming herself for her vigil. Shandra recovered first.

"You're talking crazy," Shandra said flatly. "Lorne's big, but he's stupid. Even Grobnar could take him, if he put his mind to it. Listen, Kayla. I know you know more than me about just about everything, but I know this. You drew us all together, and we've all got our own strengths. Hells, you showed us what most of those were. You always believed in us, and you were never too proud to let us do our thing, if we were better at something than you were. I'm not telling you that you've got to pick me, all I'm saying is that we're all in this together. You pick somebody, and you make it count. Think about our strengths, and what we've got to give, not what we've got to lose. Hells, Kayla, there isn't one of us, even Bishop, who wouldn't jump at the chance to prove he can beat the snot out of some trumped-up bully, and you know damn well we all can. So think about it. What has this Lorne asshole got? Nobody but himself. You've got all of us, and we're all better than him. You think about his weaknesses, and you pick the one that can find them. Forget everything else. We're all with you."

Kayla tried not to be blinded by emotion, but failed. She threw her arms around Shandra and clung to her tightly, blinking back her tears.

"Shandra speaks truly," Casavir said solemnly. "If, by life or death I can serve you, I will."

"Shut up, you idiot," Shandra barked, making Kayla laugh. "We're all getting out of this alive, or I'll pucker up to Bishop."

"I don't know what to say," Kayla stammered.

"Then say nothing," Casavir replied soothingly, "and go to the Hall of Justice to begin the Rite. By my reckoning, and Shandra's, you will have ample choice before you. And Shandra speaks truly. Each of your companions has his own strengths. Let your choice be guided by those that will best suit your needs... and Lorne's weaknesses."

"Say," Shandra said, narrowing her eyes, "what are you getting all worked up about, anyway? You Lathandrites are supposed to be optimistic almost to the point of stupidity. What happened to 'always another morning'?"

Kayla laughed to hear her faith described so bluntly, but Shandra was right. For the last two tendays, she had been wallowing in fear and self-doubt like she never heard of Lathander or the joyful promise the afterlife held for one of her faith. She loved life, but she would love the afterlife, too. What did she possibly stand to lose in this world, that would fill her with such dread?

Her gaze fell on Casavir, and she felt a fresh wave of panic rise at the thought of losing him. No matter what pleasures the next world held, without some kind of formal bond between them, she would be greeting them without him. She did not know what arrangements the gods made between lovers of different faiths, but she could not imagine that either an infinitely compassionate Lathander or an infinitely just Tyr would demand that they be parted. With a loving vow between them, surely servants of Lathander and Tyr need not be parted by death, but with love still undeclared...

At least now she knew why she was so afraid, but the knowledge did not help her. She wanted to confess her love for him, but she could not. Her confession would place an obligation on him to reveal his own feelings, and that, she must not do. If he loved her, his unfailing honesty would have compelled him to confess it before now, and if he did not, he would fear to deliver what could only be a crushing disappointment at a time when she was least able to bear it. Even if his feelings hung between the two, with affectionate regard or the beginnings of something that could carry them through this life and into the next, he would still feel obligated to deny that he loved her, to avoid misleading her, and he would fear _that_ more than he would fear disappointing her. No, she must remain silent about her own feelings if she wished to spare him pain. And time was passing.

She still must undergo the Rite of Tyr, and she must do it soon. And both Casavir and Shandra were staring at her, waiting for her to speak.

"You're right, Shandra," Kayla said at last, trying to sound, if not cheerful, at least confident. "And we really should be at the temple by now. Let's go."

Once Kayla was armed, Kayla, Casavir, Shandra, Sir Grayson and Sir Barret made their way to the temple of Tyr. They walked slowly, on account of Sir Barret's limp, but Kayla was glad for the chance to look around. She wondered if it would be the last time she would see the sun setting on Blacklake.

She paused when they got to the bridge, and caught Casavir's hand.

"Do you remember this place?" she asked him. "We launched our boats from that spot, and this is where we sat to eat the honey cakes."

"I remember," Casavir replied, his voice thick.

She raised his hand to her mouth, and tentatively licked one fingertip.

"The sweet is gone," she sighed.

He threw his arms around her suddenly, crushing her against his chest. He shook with some tightly-controlled emotion, but said nothing for several heartbeats.

"I taste it still," he whispered at last, and kissed her tenderly, in full view of Shandra, Sir Grayson, and Sir Barret.

Shandra started to protest, but Sir Grayson hushed her.

"Let them have a moment," Kayla heard him say. "One way or another, everything will be different tomorrow."

All things must end, however, and a moment later, they were in the Merchant District, rounding the corner near the Hall of Justice. A bearded projectile caught her mid-stride, knocking the air out of her, and nearly knocking her to the ground.

"It's good to see you, too, Khelgar," Kayla laughed, returning the dwarf's eager embrace.

He was shouting excitedly, but it was too jumbled to make out what he was saying. She heard the word "injustice" a lot, but beyond that, he was going to have to calm down before she could understand him.

"Sorry, Kayla," Neeshka greeted her more restrainedly. "I tried to keep him back, but... well, you can see how well that worked."

"Er... yes," Kayla grinned, and managed to get Khelgar tucked under the arm that was not wrapped around Casavir's waist. "It's good to see some friendly faces, though. Who all came out?"

"Duncan's here, though he can't stay much longer, and Sand, naturally, and Grobnar and Elanee... and Bishop turned up. So pretty much everyone, apart from Qara."

Kayla felt Casavir's arm tighten around her shoulders at the mention of Bishop's name, but he remained mercifully silent.

"Oh," Neeshka continued, "and there's a priest waiting for you, an old guy named Hlam."

Once again, Kayla felt Casavir's tension in the arm he still held around her, but he offered no explanation.

Kayla endured the hesitant well-wishes of her friends, none of whom seemed to know whether to congratulate her on winning the trial or offer her condolences for the ordeal she still must face. Apart from Khelgar, who was still raving, Bishop seemed the most disturbed that her acquittal had not been secured by winning the trial.

"It's all a load of dung, if you ask me," Bishop snapped. "Make you stand trial, as if anybody cared if a couple dozen Luskan idiots snuffed it, and then, once you jump through all their hoops, it's 'Great job. You win. Now here's this big, evil-smelling bastard who's going to tear off your head and spit down your windpipe.' Bah. Come on, Princess, let's get out of here."

"I have to undergo the Rite of Tyr," Kayla explained as patiently as she could. She had moved her hand up to grip the strap that kept Casavir's pauldrons from sliding forward, but if he wanted to, he could free himself easily enough.

"You elect to undergo it, you mean," Bishop spat. "We could be out of here and on a fast ship to Calimport before they even knew you were gone."

"Not this time, Bishop," she sighed. "I guess this means that you aren't going to offer your services as my champion?"

"Not on your life," Bishop sneered. "I don't care how great an ass you've got, I'm not sticking my neck out just for a chance to poke it."

"Hold your tongue!" Casavir snapped, advancing on Bishop.

Kayla yanked hard on the armor strap. She was not strong enough to stop Casavir, but it was enough to get his attention. He turned to face her, though she could see his anger smoldering in his eyes.

"Does this happen often?" Sir Grayson asked.

"Not more than four or five times a day," Kayla sighed. "Tiresome, isn't it? You have no idea how many times I wished I had a bucket of water handy."

"The right to champion your innocence is an honor, my lady," Casavir said sternly, "not an opportunity for seduction."

"Then stop puffing out your chest and come into the temple with me," Kayla said wearily.

"I'm the only one allowed to go past the vestibule with you," Sir Grayson said. "After you speak to Prior Hlam, he'll lead you to the inner chapel where you can meditate, and he and I will bless you, then leave you alone. After a while, your companions will be allowed to see you, but only one at a time. Are you ready to go in?"

"Yes," Kayla said heavily.

Duncan pushed his way forward and hugged her tightly.

"Wish it didn't have to be this way, lass," he said, "but it does, so no sense complaining about it now. I'll just have to save my cheering for after the fight. I've got a couple barrels of wine set aside for the celebration, so don't be late."

While Kayla thought his grin looked a bit forced, she was grateful for his confidence, nonetheless. She kissed his cheek and bid him good night with a lighter heart.

Most of her friends followed her into the vestibule, but Bishop simply made a rude gesture at Casavir and stomped back town the street, presumably to find some place with cheap ale and cheaper women. Kayla had not really expected him to even come this far, though, so she was not surprised that he left now.

"Your friends must wait here," an elderly cleric said in a reedy voice. "Are you ready to begin the Rite of Tyr?"

"I am," Kayla replied.

"Not so fast!" Khelgar bellowed, pushing past Casavir and Sir Barret and knocking Sir Grayson aside. "You can't let her do this! It isn't right!"

"It is right," the man who was presumably Prior Hlam said calmly, "and it is also just."

"There's no justice here!" Khelgar shouted. "There's been no justice since the minute that Judge Oleff fellow said Torio had the right to set that Luskan dog on her! And if you think I'm letting you haul her off before I even get my say, I'll... I'll... I'll hit you with my axe!"

"Something vexes thee?" Prior Hlam raised a shaggy eyebrow at Khelgar's outburst.

"You're damn right something vexes me! You know she didn't murder all those people! You heard everybody and his sister say she didn't do it! And all that evidence, and all those clues we went all over Faerun to find all say the same thing! And now she's got to fight to prove it all over again?! This is one dwarf that won't take that lying down! I'll kill that lying bastard! I'll tear off his arm and beat him to death with the stump!"

"Why are you angry, my son?"

"Because it isn't fair, that's why!" Khelgar roared. "It's -"

"It's unjust?" Prior Hlam suggested innocently.

"Yeah!" Khelgar agreed loudly. "It's unjust, and it makes me mad!"

"Mad enough to fight to prove it?" Prior Hlam asked.

"Yeah," Khelgar replied, calming slightly.

"Do you offer to stand as her champion?" Prior Hlam prompted.

"If she'll have me," Khelgar answered, looking guiltily at Kayla.

"This one has offered to go in your stead," Prior Hlam said, turning to Kayla. "Do you accept?"

Kayla looked intently at Khelgar, but she already knew why she must refuse him. She remembered what Shandra had said about her companions' strengths and exploiting Lorne's weaknesses, and she knew that Khelgar was not her best choice. From what Marcus had said of the one who had really slaughtered Ember, it could only have been Lorne. That would make him a vicious man, undisciplined and brutal. He would be impulsive, and let his rage guide his hand. Khelgar was an able fighter, she knew, and stronger and tougher even than Lorne, but he was just as impulsive and just as undisciplined, but, unlike Lorne, Khelgar had a conscience. There were some things that Khelgar would not do, and that might get him killed.

"I love you dearly, Khelgar," she sighed, "and it means a lot to me that you're willing to risk your life to help me, but I can't let you take on Lorne. I know you can beat him, so it isn't that. It's just that to win, you'd have to be like him, and I couldn't live with myself for doing that to you."

Khelgar sighed mightily, but he took it well.

"I understand," he said. "And I don't blame you. But I'll be there before the fight starts. If you change your mind, just say the word, and I'm your dwarf."

"I'll see you in the morning," Kayla said as cheerfully as she could manage.

"This way, then, my daughter," Prior Hlam instructed, and led her into the chapel.

* * *

Casavir knelt in the vestibule and prayed. He had already said the evening prayers, and the seasonal ones, as well, and had made a good start on those relating to strength, justice, and self-sacrifice, but the night was growing old, and he had not yet gone in to speak with The Lady.

"Welcome home, Casavir," said a reedy voice behind him.

He turned to see Prior Hlam standing there, gesturing toward a bench near the wall.

"You'll wear out your knees on the floor, my son," Prior Hlam went on. "Sit with me a while, before you go in."

Casavir obeyed, but his heart sank. Of all the inhabitants of the Hall of Justice, Prior Hlam was the one he dreaded meeting most. He had hoped that he might pass unrecognized, and for a while, he believed that he had, but Prior Hlam's greeting showed him the impossibility of that assumption.

"You acquitted yourself well in the retaking of Old Owl Well, I hear," Prior Hlam ventured.

"She is a wise and capable leader," Casavir replied evasively.

"What's she like?" Prior Hlam asked with no hesitation.

"She is virtuous and kind," Casavir answered, forcing himself to look only at his hands in his lap. "I am privileged to serve so righteous a leader."

"I was at the trial, you know," Prior Hlam said. Had Casavir risked a glance at him, he was sure he would be smiling at his discomfort. "I heard your raptures when you spoke of her good deeds and gentle nature. At first, I thought you were exaggerating, that affection or loneliness had made you blind, or see more than was there, but then, I thought 'Why not? Why can't she be as good as all that? Sure, she probably gets cross and petty, sometimes, but that doesn't diminish her good qualities.' But that isn't what I was asking, really. During the trial, you said that you accompanied her to her home in West Harbor while the massacre was going on, hundreds of miles away, so I'm guessing she must be a farmer of some sort, or descended from them, even if she looks like you could snap her in half with a harsh glance."

"She is far stronger than she looks," Casavir protested.

"Yes, of course," Prior Hlam agreed readily. "Does she have family living? What do they do?"

"She never knew her father," Casavir replied, though he felt the heat rising in his face at the implied impropriety of what he said... and what he was about to say. "Her mother was an adventurer, and a cleric of Lliira. She was raised by an elven ranger... and tutored by a cleric of Lathander she regards as a father."

"Interesting," Prior Hlam said. "You have similar backgrounds, in the sense that you were raised by those who were not blood kin. Perhaps that explains why you have stayed with her so long... when I know you drifted for years, after the wars. Are you more grounded now, my son?"

"I am content," Casavir replied, keeping his tone neutral, and he hoped, serene.

"Would you not be more 'content' if you became reacquainted with your brothers in faith?" Prior Hlam suggested gently.

"I have broken faith with the Order," Casavir answered, "though I remain constant to Tyr."

"You haven't forgiven me, then," Prior Hlam sighed.

"You never wronged me," Casavir said flatly.

"I did, my son," the older man said sadly. "I did you a terrible injustice, though perhaps your stubborn desire to claim all faults unto yourself doesn't allow you to see it."

"I sinned, Father," Casavir said heavily. "You know what I did. You are not to blame for that."

"Not for that, no," Prior Hlam chuckled, then sobered. "You might blame me for the events leading up to it, though. I was the one who chose your first posting."

"I do not understand," Casavir said, turning to face Prior Hlam, at last.

"Will you let me tell you what I did?" Prior Hlam asked.

"If you wish," Casavir said coolly.

"I knew you well, Casavir," Prior Hlam said. "Martje and I had no children, you know, so you were the closest thing I had to a son, and I had great plans for you. With your powerful faith, and your unshakable morals, and your natural leadership ability, and your towering _presence_... and your face like an archon... you could have risen high indeed. Get you married off to a nice girl with a good family and a little bit of money, and you would have been leading the Order in a few years, and you might even have become prelate. So, I kept you in Neverwinter, studying strategy and law, and cutting your teeth on smaller commands until you got a feel for leading men.

"I knew you never had such grand ambitions, but that was even more reason to want that life for you. You would have done it out of duty, yes, but you would have loved the good you could accomplish more than the accolades or status.

"I just never counted on your innocence, or your idealism. A more worldly man would have seen Sharilyn for what she was, and would have sought a mate among young ladies with more real virtue, if less appearance of it, but you were not a worldly man. You were blindsided. And that was my fault. I should have prepared you for the sweet lies courtly maidens tell in the course of their seductions."

Casavir could only stare mutely at Prior Hlam's unexpected confession, so Prior Hlam kept talking.

"I should have sent you on field assignments," he said. "You would have become acquainted with the ways of the world in a more natural setting, among people you liked better... and among young women who did not have to secure a rich husband to be happy.

"You wanted a simple life, with a clear purpose, a clear conscience, and honest people around you... people like your Kayla.

"So you see, my son," Prior Hlam concluded, "I _have_ wronged you."

"Tyr's will reveals itself in the most unlikely ways," Casavir said slowly, carefully considering each word. "And I am responsible for the choices I made, not you. Once, I was bitter, but now, when I look back on my life, I begin to perceive that all may have been done according to the will of our Lord. Had I never allowed myself to be led astray, I would not have gone to Old Owl Well. I would never have met her, and an innocent, truly virtuous woman would die tomorrow. I intend to stand as her champion, as you must know. Also, I believe that the good we will accomplish in our future travels will surpass any good I might have done had my life taken any other course."

"That's a remarkably positive attitude, Casavir," Prior Hlam said approvingly.

"I am learning," Casavir reflected.

Anything further either man might have said was interrupted by the sound of the chapel door opening. Shandra emerged, looking disappointed.

"It's your turn," Shandra said glumly. "Good luck."

* * *

Kayla had tried to meditate, but she had been unable to think about anything other than whether she should just face Lorne herself or, if not, who she should send in her place. Despite the advice she had received from both Shandra and Casavir that she should choose the person best able to exploit Lorne's weaknesses, she could not help thinking instead about the life that person would be giving up in dying for her.

She must undergo the trial by combat. She might as well place her neck in the noose herself as refuse. Bishop had urged her to do just that, and would no doubt have offered to smuggle her out of Neverwinter and the consequences of her refusal, for a price. In another life, she might have considered that possibility, but that would be a life where she had never met Casavir. She could not think about meeting his honest blue eyes and contemplate abandoning her responsibilities like that. To do so would be to admit that she was guilty of every crime they laid before her, and she could never tell that big of a lie.

But she must choose someone, or go herself.

Khelgar had his clan. If she was defeated, he might return to them and be welcomed back as if he had never left. That, combined with her original decision that Khelgar's style of fighting would play to Lorne's strengths, not his weaknesses, was all the reason she needed to refuse him.

Shandra had suggested that Sand might offer to accept Lorne's challenge on her behalf, but she had not really expected him to do it. Sand was a talented mage, and he could handle daggers or quarterstaves to some degree, and he was a decent shot with a crossbow, but none of those weapons would help much against Lorne's falchion. She had been surprised, therefore, at Sand's somewhat condescending statement that her champion need not be a warrior, and that whomever she chose might use any means at his disposal to beat Lorne... even, as Sand rather colorfully said "immersing him in a storm of spells until he was nothing but a damp patch of ground in the arena."

She was tempted to take him up on his offer, but she refused. He was doing it for the right reasons, she knew. He, too, wanted to see justice done, and he was willing to risk his own personal safety to make it happen, but it was a sacrifice he did not need to make. He would live for hundreds of years, yet, and he had a profitable business and a wealth of knowledge he still wanted to explore. And Kayla could not help thinking that Lorne would cut Sand down while the elf mused about whether he should rather hit Lorne with a fireball or an ice storm. His hesitation would be his undoing. Better that she should choose another, or go herself.

Sand accepted her decision gracefully, and left her with several healing potions and an antidote as parting gifts.

Shandra had told her that she would offer, so Kayla was not surprised to see her when Sand left, but, like Casavir, Kayla doubted that Shandra could get the better of Lorne in a fair fight. Lorne was stronger than Shandra, and he had far more experience. Shandra had pluck, but that would not be enough to keep her alive.

Still, it was hard saying no to her. Kayla tried to be kind, but there was no really good way to say that she did not think Shandra was the best choice. She hoped Shandra would forgive her, but the important thing was that Shandra would live to carry a grudge, if she did not.

After Shandra left, she knelt at the shrine again, and tried to steel herself for what she knew would be the most difficult conversation of all. Casavir would come, and he would offer to be her champion, and she must find a way to refuse him.

She heard him enter the chapel and come to kneel beside her. He, too, wore his armor, but even its creaks and muffled clanks could not have alerted her to his presence sooner than his aura did. Like it had in the ravine at Old Owl Well, it washed over her like sunlight. The world would be a sadder, darker place without him in it.

For a long time, he merely knelt beside her without speaking. Perhaps he prayed.

Of all her companions, Casavir stood the best chance of beating Lorne. He was more than capable, as a warrior, but he had the discipline that Lorne lacked. He would give in to neither impulse nor rage, nor would he hesitate to strike, if he found an opening. But could she send him?

He had known so much pain, so many sacrifices. That his own life meant so little to him spoke much of all that he had already given up to become the man who knelt so devotedly beside her. No joy touched him, apart from the meager solace he found in her company. Could she ask him to give up that little bit of self that remained? She should rather free him, release him from whatever bonds held him to her, that he might find some measure of happiness. For all that Casavir was older than her, she had lived the fuller life. She owed him the chance to pursue his dreams.

"I am uneasy, my lady," he said at last. "I fear that you have resolved to face the Rite alone."

"I have," she admitted sadly.

"Have you no faith in justice?" he asked her quietly. "Have you no faith in me?"

"I believe in you, dear one," she sighed. "Of all of us, you stand the best chance of beating Lorne. He would rage at you like a gale, and you would not waver. It is only that I cannot command you to fight him. In all your years, you have done nothing but risk your life for others. I can't ask you to do it again."

"Then do not ask, my lady," he said simply. "Merely listen, and I will offer. Close your ears, and I will let my actions prove my intent."

"I can't, Cas," she said, turning to face him. "You have lost so much already. I can't place one more burden on you. I must do this alone."

"You do not understand," Casavir replied patiently, taking her hand and stroking it absentmindedly. "You look on this as if you are sending someone to die for you, but if you send me, I will not die. I will live, and I will win."

"You don't know that," she protested, though she almost smiled at his quiet confidence. "You cannot force my hand in this, Cas. Only I can name my champion. If I name no one, I go myself."

He sighed himself and released her hand.

"My lady," he said, "before we left Port Llast for Ember, you said you would yield to me in all things, if only I obeyed you in not dismissing Bishop. I have held my peace, though there were times when it nearly choked me. My lady, yield to me in this."

She stared at him in shocked silence. Of all the things he could have asked of her, he chose this.

"Why, Casavir?" she pleaded. "Why must you do this?"

"Because I believe, my lady," he answered, his voice steady, serene, even. "I believe it is the will of Tyr that I should be your champion, and it is the desire of my heart, as well. Look at me and tell me that yours tells you otherwise."

She did look at him, and her resistance crumbled. She saw his sincerity, but, worse, she knew he was right. From the moment she met him, he made her feel safe. As their friendship grew, this feeling had only intensified. These last two tendays, she could not even close her eyes to sleep unless his arms were around her, and that was not entirely because of his calming aura. He had become her personal guardian angel, and that role pleased him as much as it pleased her. She needed one person in her life around whom she could allow herself to be human, and even weak, and he needed someone to need him, and him alone.

She leaned forward until her cheek rested against his breastplate, and she felt his arms close around her.

"My heart tells me that you are already my champion," she said sadly, "even if I wish I could spare you."

"All will be well, my lady," he said softly, as calmly and as confidently as if he told her that the sun would rise.

"If you are determined to do this, I should give you some token," she said, drawing away and looking about her person for something she might give him as a symbol of her trust in him. She wore very little that was not armor or basic clothing... no ribbon, no ornament... but she did have her ring. Brother Merring had given it to her more than five years before, when she declared her intention to become a cleric of Lathander, and she had worn it ever since. She took it off and held it out to him.

"I don't know if it's going to fit," she murmured apologetically.

Casavir took it reverently and looked at it for a moment, then kissed it and tried it on his smallest finger. When it proved too small, he threaded it onto the chain that held his holy symbol.

"Thank you," he said gravely.

"Thank _you_," she breathed. She extended her arms to him, and he embraced her gently. "I wish it didn't have to be this way."

"This is the only way it could be, my lady," Casavir whispered. "We will get through this together."

* * *

_Note: Thanks to my beta-reader, who once again picked up on the places where a quick word and a few hasty assumptions weren't going to cut it._


	54. Her Champion

_Disclaimer and thanks: Obsidian owns everybody but Kayla, Sir Barret, and Lucina. My beta-reader is due her usual thanks for her critical eye in spotting the stuff I missed._

* * *

It was still early, barely past dawn, and Blacklake arena was flooded with golden light. It was a cool morning, for so early in Eleint, and mist gathered in the hollows. Kayla shivered, and stared at the arched doorway where Casavir would enter.

He had joined her in her vigil, as she knew he would, and had convinced her to name him as her champion. She had not wanted that. She wanted to think that no matter what the future held, it would contain a whole, healthy Casavir, serving Tyr and seeking the happiness that had eluded him most of his life, but he had persuaded her that he needed to do this. In her heart, she knew he did. He needed to do it for _her_.

Casavir needed her as much as she needed him. She was not certain she understood everything that made Casavir the man he was, but she did know that he needed someone to look after, someone who relied on him. When she was at her worst, her most helpless and most vulnerable, he was at his best. He was at his kindest then, and at his most tender, but she only had to look at him to see the happiness behind his concern. He liked who he became when he was caring for her in that way. What a fortunate coincidence, then, that what he was most eager to give her was what she needed the most. To everyone else, she must be strong and fearless, but Casavir accepted her as she was, human and sometimes quite fallible, and in need of his care and protection. It was a kind of existential honesty in her life... and it felt good, knowing that she was allowed to be human, and that somebody wanted to look after her.

She had made him her champion, and had given him her ring as a makeshift badge of office. It was not much, but it made her feel better, knowing that he carried her token onto the field, and that he had been pleased with the gift.

He had stayed with her, even after they had reached their agreement. At first, as he had so many nights before, he held her and reassured her, but later, as the morning drew nearer, they prayed together. So it was that the dawn found them, kneeling with joined hands, offering words of devotion to Lathander and to Tyr, praying for strength and deliverance... and giving thanks for the new bond between them.

Now, Kayla sat alone, praying that Lathander would lend his aid to Casavir, in addition to that which she knew Tyr would give his devoted servant, her champion. While this challenge was more grave than those the Morning Lord was usually called upon to assist, and more deadly, it was still a test of skill, and her god blessed all athletic endeavors.

Someone prodded her leg.

She looked up to see Sir Grayson seating himself beside her, with Sir Barret and his squire Lucina just beyond. She jumped up to help Sir Grayson get settled, but he just waved her back down.

"Don't bother waiting on me, today," he said with a kindly smile. "You'll have your mind on other matters, and Lucina can do for us both. Shall I assume that you chose Cas as your champion?"

"He wouldn't take no for an answer," Kayla sighed.

"You had no choice, really," Sir Grayson agreed. "And it makes sense. I haven't seen him fight in years, naturally, but he used to be very good indeed, the best in his year, or mine, and he can only have improved since then, he uses his skills so regularly. I'm quite prepared to be awed, to tell you the truth."

Sir Barret cleared his throat and Sir Grayson laughed uncomfortably.

"We talked about this, Barret," Sir Grayson said to his lover, then added in a whisper loud enough for the half-deaf Sir Barret to hear, "and she loves him. You'd want me to hear somebody else say how wonderful you are, wouldn't you?"

Sir Barret just smiled at Kayla and Sir Grayson and took the latter's hand.

"I'm still worried," Kayla admitted. "Lorne won't fight fair."

"You would not worry, had you ever seen him wrestle," Sir Barret replied calmly. "There is nothing that Lorne might do to him that he will not expect."

"Thank you, Sir Barret," Kayla allowed herself to smile, "I have seen him wrestle, but I feel a lot better, hearing you say that."

"Look, Kayla!" Sir Grayson interjected excitedly. "The stands are really filling up! It looks like a lot of people have come out to see Neverwinter beat the snot out of Luskan again."

Kayla looked around, and found that Sir Grayson was right. The arena was large, with high tiers of benches enclosing an area bigger than a hurley field, but it was already more than half full, and more people were pouring into it even as she watched.

She sat under a pale blue awning directly to the right of Lord Nasher's still-empty royal blue one. Beyond that, she could see another, in Luskan red, presumably for Torio and her entourage. There was still one empty seat in her own pavilion in the stands. She supposed it must be reserved for Sand, though she had not seen him yet. She had not yet seen any of her companions, though she noticed two benches roped off, directly across the arena from her.

As she watched, a burly, bald dwarf she would recognize anywhere elbowed and nudged his way through the crowd toward the reserved benches, trailing a string of familiar faces. Khelgar seated himself in the middle of the bench and waved at her. She returned his wave as she watched Neeshka take a seat on one side of him and Grobnar help himself to one on the other. Shandra sat next to Grobnar, and Bishop, Qara, Elanee, and Duncan filed into the second row. They were all there, she realized, and they would all be cheering for Casavir... even Bishop! Well, maybe Bishop would not be cheering for Casavir so much as booing against Luskan, but he was there.

"Well," Sand said, taking a seat behind her, "it looks like all we have to do now is wait for Lord Nasher, and the show can begin."

Kayla sighed. They would not have long to wait, she knew, but it felt like ages.

She raised her eyes to look at the sky over the top edge of the arena. Bright pennons snapped in a rising breeze against an achingly blue sky. The sun was not a thumb's breadth higher than the tallest banner, so it must still be quite early.

An expectant hush descended on the arena, then a trumpet fanfare announced the arrival of Lord Nasher.

Kayla rose, along with everyone else in the arena. Once Lord Nasher had taken his place on his throne, she turned to help Sir Grayson to his seat, but he was already getting comfortable, and dismissed her attentions with a smile and a gesture that she should watch Lord Nasher.

"It is the will of Lord Nasher Alagondar, sovereign of Neverwinter, that the champions of Kayla of Lathander, squire of Neverwinter, and of Torio Claven, ambassador of Luskan, meet this day on the field of battle," Sir Nevalle intoned. His voice must have been magically amplified, because it boomed throughout the cavernous arena. "The outcome of this Trial by Combat will decide who is responsible for the slaughter of the village of Ember.

"Kayla of Lathander, who will champion you, this day?" Sir Nevalle turned to face her.

"Casavir, paladin of Tyr, is my champion," Kayla replied. She was momentarily surprised to hear her own voice resound just as loudly, but that might have been Sand's doing. She was gratified at the cheering that rose from the crowd.

"Torio Claven... Is the Luskan ambassador present?" Sir Nevalle looked around as if someone might be hiding the woman under a bench.

"Forgive me, my lords," Torio's amplified voice purred, "I was detained. As you might well imagine, countless well-wishers wanted reassurance that Ember will receive the justice that is her due."

Kayla fumed. Before the trial, she felt strangely neutral toward Torio, considering her as much a victim of political machinations as herself. Now, however, she was beginning to see why Sand disliked her so much.

"Promise me, Kayla, that you will never appear in public dressed like that," Sir Grayson moaned under his breath.

"I promise," she almost giggled, looking to see what had attracted her knight's derision.

Torio wore her signature cleavage-enhancing feathery collar and midriff-baring gown, but she had chosen to wear red today, perhaps to match the awning she stood under, or perhaps merely to set her apart from Neverwinter's nobility, most of whom wore some shade of blue. As everyone else seemed to be wearing more somber or martial attire today, her blatantly provocative costume struck Kayla as being in exceptionally bad taste.

"And have you selected a champion, ambassador, or were you planning on waiting until Squire Kayla's champion dies of old age?" Lord Nasher interrupted Sir Nevalle.

"I name Lorne Starling of West Harbor," Torio answered, "a one-time neighbor of the accused. As you can see, even her former friends now unite in their belief of her guilt."

"You had your day in court, Torio," Lord Nasher intoned, drowning out the boos and catcalls of the crowd, "and you lost. The court ruled unanimously in Squire Kayla's favor. Should you persist in attempting to pursue a case that has already been decided, Neverwinter will be forced to revert to its earlier verdict. Is that your desire?"

"N- no, Lord Nasher," Torio's carefully modulated voice faltered, "you may proceed."

"May we, now?" Lord Nasher said more softly, but more dangerously. "Have a care, ambassador. Today's spectacle occurs at Luskan's appeal to the just decision of Neverwinter's courts. It would be well for you to remember that."

"Yes, Lord Nasher," Torio conceded, sitting down abruptly.

"Sir Nevalle, you may proceed," Lord Nasher commanded.

"Let the champions enter the arena," Sir Nevalle cried.

Kayla held her breath as Casavir strode onto the grounds. His armor shone in the morning sunlight and the Scales of Justice gleamed golden upon his shield. He had not yet donned his helmet. His handsome face looked pale, but resolute, and his expression was one of otherworldly tranquility. That reassured her. Casavir, at least, harbored no doubt in his heart. She allowed herself to breathe again.

She watched as he strode toward Lord Nasher's pavilion and bowed, then her heart leapt when he approached the place where she sat. Her ring caught the light, and glittered against his blue surcoat. He bowed to her.

"Will you bless me, my lady?" he asked gravely.

"Lathander's blessings upon you, dear one," she breathed, touching his head with the gesture that would complete the spell, "and mine."

He caught her hand and kissed it before turning to face the center of the arena... and Lorne.

Kayla's heart lurched. Lorne had never looked more fearsome. He seemed even bigger than he had in the courtroom. Beside Lorne, Casavir's lean frame seemed almost elven, he looked so slight. She swallowed hard, reminding herself that at least some of Lorne's bulk came from the wolf pelt he had draped around his shoulders, and that size was no measure of ability. Bishop, too, was broader than Casavir, but that had not helped him, when they wrestled in the courtyard outside the Sunken Flagon.

"Champions, take your positions!" Sir Nevalle called.

Kayla watched the men move to their marks, lines etched into the ground about twenty feet apart. Once in position, neither moved.

"May Tyr grant victory to the champion of the innocent," Sir Nevalle shouted. "Champions, you fight to the death. Lay on!"

Abandoning any pretense of dignity, Kayla rose from her seat and knelt at the railing, praying fervently for Casavir's swift victory. Amid the creaking of his own armor, Sir Grayson knelt beside her, and Lucina. Sir Barret did not kneel, but he rose and placed his hand on Kayla's shoulder.

The first few moments, it looked like Casavir might win more quickly than even Kayla hoped. He struck hard, and he struck fast. Kayla could hear the Hammer of Justice sing as it arced through the air. Lorne staggered, and dropped to one knee.

Kayla was on her feet, screaming cheers beside Sir Grayson, when suddenly, the crowd went silent. Her jubilation died in her throat. Lorne, bloody and battered, rose from his knees and took first one step forward, then another. And then he went mad.

A change came over him. He snarled through the blood pouring freely from his nose and charged Casavir. He raised his own great falchion and brought it down hard, rending Casavir's shield. Casavir fell back and brought his hammer to bear once more, but Lorne could not be stopped.

Again and again, Lorne lashed out at Casavir. Casavir managed to block most of the blows, but Lorne was hitting him too fast. He simply could not recover before the Lorne's next swing descended. Kayla saw Casavir's blood staining his armor and darkening his surcoat.

Kayla was screaming again, and clutching at Sir Grayson, but this time, she screamed in fear. Casavir could never survive the hail of death that fell upon him.

"RUN!" Sir Grayson yelled over the shouts of the crowd. "Don't just stand there, you idiot! Get away!"

Kayla was not sure if Casavir heard Sir Grayson, but run he did. He ran to the edge of the arena and then he sprinted around its perimeter, always staying just a few steps ahead of Lorne.

He was planning something, though Kayla could not tell what. She knew how fast Casavir could run, even in full armor, and he was nowhere near his top speed. If Lorne staggered, Casavir slowed, keeping a constant distance between them, close enough to make Lorne pursue him, but not close enough for Lorne to strike him.

Kayla clasped Sir Grayson's hands anxiously.

"He's trying to tire Lorne out!" she cried, though Sir Grayson was standing close enough to hear a whisper.

"I know," Sir Grayson grinned. "Clever old boy, isn't he? He knows Lorne can't keep raging forever. His fury fills him with fire, but when it burns all there is to fuel it, it will go out, and Lorne will falter. Once his rage passes, Lorne will be done for, and Casavir can finish him off."

It was a cruel way to fight, Kayla knew, and she was certain Casavir never learned it from his weapons masters, but this was his life at stake, and hers. He could not afford to be too chivalrous.

For what felt like an eternity, Lorne chased Casavir around the arena. Had the situation not been so desperate, it would have been comical, a bear chasing a greyhound.

Finally, Lorne staggered once more, then stopped, panting. He dropped to his knees.

Casavir stopped, turned to face Lorne, and spoke to him. Lorne said two short words in return. Casavir nodded and made a sign of blessing over Lorne's bowed head.

Then, Casavir took his hammer in both hands and brought it down hard on Lorne's head. The sound of his skull cracking filled the arena. Kayla felt ill, but she forced herself to watch as Lorne's body went slack and toppled to the ground.

It was over. Casavir had won.

* * *

Casavir knelt, shaking, before Lord Nasher's pavilion as the judgment was read. He knew he had won... that The Lady had won, by Tyr's grace and his own hand... but it had not been the easy victory he anticipated, nor had it been without cost. He would soon die himself, if he did nothing to stop the blood flowing out of his body.

That, at least, he might easily remedy, if he wished. He rarely used his ability to heal with a touch on himself, preferring to save it for others, but now, he must use it or die.

For one fleeting moment, he considered delay. He had conquered Lorne, and in doing so, he had bought The Lady's freedom. If he succumbed to his injuries now, he might finally gain the reward he had craved for so long. And it was so simple a thing. All he had to do was... nothing.

His head was bowed while Sir Nevalle read the verdict, and his gaze fell upon the tiny gold ring that hung on a chain about his neck together with Tyr's symbol. Its face hung downward, away from him, but he knew its design. He had looked on it when she gave it to him, and again all the while he waited to be called into the arena. A sliver had been pared from circle of gold, and on that surface, the rising sun of Lathander had been etched, the eternal symbol of hope and rebirth, the promise of a new life waiting just beyond the next sunrise. His life, renewed, restored to him as full of hope as it had been when he was a child, waiting for him to claim it.

He cast the spell.

He felt life course through him again, even as his wounds stopped bleeding and began to close. He would need more healing than that, but others would do it. For now, it was enough to know that he would live, and that he would be there to protect the beautiful, fragile creature who needed him.

He looked up and to the left, where he knew The Lady sat. She had risen, and was leaning over the railing at the edge of the arena, reaching out to him, her face radiant with the joy of fears relieved.

He thanked Tyr for his life, and for his victory, and for the happiness he felt in having a purpose worth living for.

"Cas! Cas!" she cried, once Sir Nevalle was done speaking. "Are you hurt? You were magnificent!"

"I am injured, my lady," he replied, "but, by the will of Tyr, I will live, and you are victorious."

She clamored over the railing and leapt down onto the grounds, her healing spell hitting him as she touched him. She threw her arms around his shoulders as he knelt before her, and covered his face with kisses.

His modesty flinched at so public a display, but his heart rejoiced in her caresses. What greater prize had any champion, on securing a victory for his lady...

His lady. That brought him up sharp against reality. He really was dreaming, if he could indulge in such a wild fantasy. He had no claim on her, despite the elation that temporarily blinded him and filled him with the most delicious confusion.

"Go on, now," Casavir heard Lord Nasher say. "You have fought well, and Neverwinter is pleased. We would not wish to detain you from your well-deserved victory celebration."

The Lady stammered some apology for ignoring protocol, but Casavir was already leading her away, toward the exit and the rest of her companions. There would be revelry, he knew, but right now, all Casavir wanted was to put this place of death and lives restored behind them and go home.

* * *

The odd, euphoric confusion that filled Casavir on winning the Trial by Combat had left him by the time they reached the Sunken Flagon, but he was no more clear-headed. He did his best to act as he always did, but he found himself talking a great deal less than usual and drinking a great deal more.

The Lady still clung to him and lavished attention upon him, and Grayson and Barret, who had accompanied them back to the Sunken Flagon, still talked to him about the battle and about other matters, but Casavir felt strangely detached, and not altogether himself. He lost track of conversations, and failed to answer questions the others put to him. He tried to be cheerful, but he could barely think, let alone speak.

He knew what was wrong with him. He had done his part. He had served as her champion, and he had done well. He would be rewarded. Nevertheless, his task was completed. The mindless euphoria that filled him after his victory had departed, and he was left with one sad reality to ponder. She needed him no longer.

Still, she had not dismissed him. Perhaps there was some other role he could fill. He had not abandoned life, so he must make of it what he could. If only he could be alone. He needed solitude to think clearly, but that was one thing he could not have, not now. His dark mood made him wild, almost, and reckless.

Though it was not yet mid-afternoon, the taproom of the Sunken Flagon was quite boisterous. Duncan had made good on his promise to supply them all with wine to celebrate their victory, and appeared to have extended the offer to include the other tavern patrons, as well. The Lady, Barret, and his squire were probably the only sober people in the establishment, and that included himself. His inability to engage in normal conversation had led him to drink more than he usually did, in hopes that copious amounts of wine might enable him to overcome the fey humor affecting him. It had not worked.

He needed rest, he decided. The events of the night, and of that morning, were simply too much for his unsteady emotional state to support. He needed sleep, a good meal, and a bath, in that order, to feel more himself.

He rose and waved an unsteady farewell to Grayson and Barret, kissed The Lady sloppily, and lurched toward the stair.

Once in his room, he stripped off armor and gambeson as quickly as he could, and threw himself on his bed, still fully clothed. He ignored the chill breeze blowing through his open window and gratefully closed his eyes.

When next he opened them again, it was fully dark, and he had an urgent bladder. His room was darker than the night outside, and probably colder, as well, but he did not need to light a candle to relieve himself. He fumbled under the bed for the chamber pot, did what he needed to do, and climbed back into bed feeling slightly drunk still, vaguely ill, and very, very weary.

"Are you all right, Cas?" a soft, gentle voice said beside him, startling him.

He fumbled for the candle on his washstand, but he knocked it over. The room was suddenly bathed in soft amber light, and The Lady set the Sphere of Invocation on the washstand. She had changed out of her armor, and wore a loose brownish gown that faded into the darkness of the room.

She seated herself on the side of the bed and looked anxiously at his face.

"I am well, my lady," he answered with no conviction. "Why have you come?"

"I was worried about you, Cas," she said. "You don't usually drink this much, and you don't strike me as a man who celebrates with enough wine to bathe in. Are you past it, or are you still drunk?"

"The latter, I fear," he replied guiltily. "I shall have to atone for this, I am certain."

"You can do it in the morning," she said. "Come on, I'll help you undress. Besides, I wanted to see if I healed you completely, or if you're still hurt. You know, it really was not wise, drinking after all the blood you must have lost."

She got up and moved to the foot of the bed. She unlaced his boots and pulled them off, then sat down on the bed again to work on the rest of his clothing. He had not worn a tunic under his gambeson, so he was left with only his shirt and leggings. He lay limp while she tended him, almost dozing.

"Aren't you cold, Cas?" she asked. "Your shirt is still damp with sweat and blood."

"A little," he murmured groggily.

"Sit up a little, and I'll help you take it off," she said.

He started to protest, that he was well enough to undress himself, but he just could not muster the energy to do it. He tried to sit, but he found that he had simply rolled onto his side.

He heard her sigh, and she started pushing his shirt up his body. He shivered as her fingers grazed his bare ribs, but he was too sleepy to protest.

He muttered indistinct complaints when she struggled to get his shirt over his shoulders and head, but she ignored them, and bent to unlace his leggings.

"Do not trouble yourself," he murmured, but she paid him no head, and merely carried on undressing him, as if he were a child.

He bestirred himself to resist only when her struggles to get his leggings down past his backside brought his smalls down with them, and he clutched at the linen that was dangerously close to exposing him.

"It would be a lot easier if you helped me," she said, sounding cross.

He could only sigh and hang on to the top of his small clothes.

At last, he was naked, or nearly so, and she was rooting around in his clothing chest.

"Put out the light," he moaned. "Let me sleep."

"Haven't you got a single clean shirt left, Cas?" she asked.

"Dunno," he grunted, turning away from her and curling up into a ball, shivering in the chill night air.

"Oh, Cas," she sighed, closing the trunk. "We'll forget the shirt tonight, but you've got to get under the blankets or you'll freeze. Come on, love, I'll help you."

A jolt passed through him then that had nothing to do with the air temperature, a thrill that passed through body, heart, and soul. He rolled onto his back, and turned his head to face her.

She stood still, her mouth frozen in a silent O of surprise. She recovered almost instantly, though, and started pulling the blankets down, trying to work them past the weight of his body.

"Help me, Cas," she pleaded, her voice quavering, "you're too big to lift."

"Did you call me 'love'?" he breathed.

"Hush, dear one," she whispered. "Just help me get you covered."

Summoning what little strength he still possessed, he braced his shoulders and heels against the mattress, and lifted his body off the bed. He could not hold that position long, but she worked fast. By the time he collapsed back onto the bed a heartbeat later, she had got the blankets down. She covered him with them, and he clutched them gratefully to his body.

She sat on the bed beside him again, not touching him, but there was a strange softness in her expression.

"What am I going to do with you?" she sighed. "A drunk paladin, too sleepy to even get out of his wet clothes. And I'm sure you've taken a chill."

She reached out and put her hand under the blankets, feeling his chest.

"You're cold, Cas," she said. "Let me get under the blankets with you, at least until you warm up a little."

When he made no protest, she kicked off her slippers and slid under his blankets. He felt her warm beside him. He mustered the strength to embrace her, and he clung to her tightly, willing her warmth to enter him. He had not realized how cold he was, until he felt the opposite so near.

She worked her arm free of his embrace and raised her hand to brush the hair out of his eyes.

"You need a haircut again," she murmured.

She slid her arm back under the blankets, and wrapped it around his back. Her fingertips traced along his spine, sending little shocks through his body.

He groaned. He felt himself respond to her touch, but he was too weary to care, and too drained in body to offer any kind of resistance.

"Sleep, dear one," she whispered, and he did.

* * *

Kayla sighed and gathered Casavir into her arms. He was already asleep, but his skin still felt very cold. She just held him tighter.

Something was wrong with him, she knew. Once, she would have said that he never drank to excess, but now, she had to amend that to say that he rarely indulged so freely, since this was at least the second time she had seen him visibly inebriated.

She thought back on the events of the morning. That would be enough to unsettle anyone. It had certainly unsettled her, though she had been more concerned with Casavir's survival, and his eventual victory, than she had been over his emotional state. But Casavir understood why Lorne must die as well as she did, and he would not have been troubled by the necessity of it. Only one of them could leave that arena, and it had been Casavir, thank the gods.

If it was not the Trial by Combat, could it have been the celebration that afternoon? He had not been himself. He never talked much when many people were present, but today, he had been utterly silent, except to request more wine.

Had she said or done something to offend him? She had been as attentive as he would allow, holding his hand or leaning against him... or refilling his cup. She had not wanted to do that, knowing what she did about the uneasy relationship paladins of Tyr had with strong drink, but Sir Grayson had no qualms about drinking himself giddy, and Casavir had patiently held his cup out to her, and if she delayed, he had simply taken the pitcher and poured it himself. But what could have happened at the celebration? Bishop was there, but he was minding his manners, for a change, and leaving Casavir alone, though poor Shandra probably did not share her relief at that. Casavir had been in the company of no one but herself, Khelgar, Sir Grayson, or Sir Barret the whole time he had been present.

The simple fact was that nothing had happened. There were no conflicts, no conversations that would have disturbed him in any way.

No, Casavir's present distress must be more personal, something that affected him alone. She would speak with him when he woke. He was getting much better about sharing his feelings with her... if she had not ruined everything with her carelessness.

How could she have allowed herself to be so unguarded? She had called him her love, and he had noticed it, though he had not pursued the matter. She only hoped that he was too groggy to remember.

Right now, however, Kayla was weary herself. It had been a long, overly eventful day, and she needed sleep as much as the man she now held.

* * *

Casavir woke to a rebellious stomach. He lurched out of bed and staggered, then fell to his knees and groped desperately under the bed for the chamber pot. Too late, he remembered that he had already used it for something else, but there was nothing he could do. His stomach heaved, and it was that or the floor.

A moment later, he rocked back on his heels, temporarily relieved, but no less wretched. He was cold and sweaty from his nausea, and his head throbbed.

"Cas?" asked an anxious female voice. The Lady must have come to him during the night, and woken to the sound of his retching.

He squinted in the harsh amber light that suddenly filled the room, turning his head away from the glare. A fresh wave of nausea hit him, and he was powerless to fight it.

Warm hands touched his bare back, and his illness left him as suddenly as it had struck.

"Oh, Cas," she moaned, pulling him back to rest against her body. "What am I going to do with you?"

To that, he had no answer.

"Are you better now?" she asked softly.

He could only nod mutely, shivering in the cool air of the room.

"And you're still cold," she sighed. "Come on, dear one, let's get you back in bed."

He obeyed, feeling mortified. He knew he should not have drunk so much the day before, and now, he had to live with the shame of the consequences.

He expected her to chide him, but she did not. Instead, she simply got in bed beside him, gathered him into her arms, and cradled his head against her breast, letting him drift peacefully until he felt like speaking. The surge of affection he felt toward her for her kindness was no less powerful than the nausea he felt earlier, but it was infinitely more pleasant.

"Forgive me," he whispered, when at last he found his voice.

"You've done nothing wrong," she said softly. "Do you want to go back to sleep, or do you want to talk?"

"Neither," he breathed, settling even deeper into her embrace.

He wanted to lie there forever, listening to her heartbeat, but he knew he could not. Purged now of the poison of the wine he had drunk, and magically cured of its after-effects, he was acutely aware that his face was pressed against a pair of breasts he longed to stroke, and that he was wearing nothing but his small clothes. He hated himself for the arousal he felt, after she had been so kind to him, but he could not simply stop being male.

"I cannot sleep any more," he said at last, pulling away from her a little and rolling onto his back. "You wished to talk?"

"I wanted to know what happened to you yesterday," she said gently. "I hoped you would tell me."

"I was not myself," he sighed. "I was elated by our victory, and glad to be in good company, yet I felt out of sorts, like something was wrong... or perhaps it is only that something has changed."

"What has changed, Cas?" she asked in her calm, beautiful voice. Her voice. She could dredge his soul with it, if she wanted, and he would pour out every secret to her.

"Your battle is won, my lady," he said sadly. "You do not need me anymore."

"Oh, Cas!" she cried. "How can you think that? I will always need you, dear one, always!"

She ran her finger down his chest until it caught on the chain that still lay there, and slid her ring along it until it rested over his heart.

"What would I do without my champion?" she breathed.

"You meant that to be...?" he hardly dared to breathe.

"Forever," she said softly.

He threw his arms around her and pressed her tightly to him. His relief was so great that for a moment, he feared he might weep from it. He breathed deep, trying to steady his frayed nerves, then he laughed.

That was a mistake. Laughing while lying on his back always made him cough. It had not happened often, but it was painful enough to be memorable. He rolled onto his side, away from The Lady, until he had his lungs under control, then rolled back to embrace her again, once the coughing fit had passed.

"What was that all about?" she asked, smiling as if the reason for his mirth was a jest she wanted to understand, but did not.

"Nothing of any consequence," he replied, stroking her hair. "Nothing I understand. My lady, I am not made for extremes of emotion... or excess of any sort, as I proved to you last night. Tyr knows that I would not trade my lot for that of any other on Toril, but these last two days have been taxing."

"I know, Cas," she sighed, reaching up to stroke his cheek, "and I'm sorry this has been so hard on you. It will be better now. You'll see."

They lay in silence for several moments. Casavir was content to just exist, breathing the fragrance of her hair, but that was not the only smell in the room.

"I reek, don't I?" he asked at last.

"I can't tell if it's you or the chamber pot..." she replied candidly, "but yes."

"Then I should get up and bathe," he sighed, though he was reluctant to leave her embrace.

"And it's almost time for me to make my devotions," she reminded him. "Why don't you have your bath sent to my room, so you don't have to stay here in the stink... you can bathe behind the screen. I will do what I have to do, and when we're done, we can face the day together."

"I should like that," Casavir agreed, though he was less enthusiastic about the idea of bathing in The Lady's bedchamber.

"Then you go on ahead and send for your bath," she said, "and I'll see if I can find you some clothing. As much as I'd like us to have a quiet day today, I have a feeling we're not going to get one."

"You may be right," Casavir sighed.

"Cas..." she began, "may I ask you something that may upset you?"

"You may ask me anything, my lady," he replied serenely.

"What did you say to Lorne... before the end?"

"I asked his forgiveness for what I must do," Casavir sighed. "I told him that I took no pleasure in taking his life, and asked if he would rather I spared him to face the judgment of the courts, if he survived his wounds. He replied 'End this.'"

"Thank you for telling me," she said softly. "I am sorry you had to do that, dear one. I know it could not have been easy for you."

"It was not," Casavir admitted, "but there was no other way it could end. Had I spared him, he would have been hanged as a twice-convicted murderer. He died with his weapon in his hand, and with what was left of his honor intact. It was just. I ensured that his end would be swift and painless. I will not say 'Do not grieve,' for you are a creature of mercy, but let your grief be tempered by the knowledge that justice was served."

He might have expected her to say something, but she did not. Instead, she simply tightened her arms around him and laid her cheek against his chest.

For a long time, neither of them moved. They lay peacefully, with their limbs entwined, and Casavir was more content than he could ever remember being, but the room was turning from dark to gray. The dawn was near, and it was time for The Lady to make her devotions.

"We have to get up, Cas," she prompted gently.

"I know," he sighed.

"You have to take a bath, and I have to pray," she said, though she made no move to rise. "Will you want to shave?"

"Yes," he answered. "I neglected it yesterday."

"Then get up and go to my room," she said, as if speaking of the things she planned might somehow accomplish them without any further effort on either of their parts, "and ask the porters to bring you a bath, and I will bring you clothing and your shaving gear. And you will bathe and shave, and I will greet the sunrise, and maybe mend your old gambeson, and we will be ready to face the day."

"Yes, my lady," he agreed.

He knew he must rise, but the warmth and comfort of a gentle lady's embrace was not something a man should leave too suddenly, so he closed his arms around her one more time, and kissed her forehead before doing her bidding.

Whatever else today might hold, it had begun very well.


	55. Discretion

_AN: For the longest time, I thought I had abandoned this fic. Maybe I should have. I stopped working on it because joy had been sucked out of it, my heart wasn't in it anymore, etcetera, but the Great Healer (time) has done what it can. A lot has changed in the last three years, and I should probably go back and rewrite this thing. Maybe someday, I will, but if I attempted it now, it would not end well. So let's just handwave the most glaring inconsistencies and move along. As always, comments and criticism (however harsh – and I mean it), signed or anonymous, are most welcome... as long as they show up here or via PM. Time is too precious to waste on LJ shenanigans, and mockery poisons the soul._

* * *

After the chaos of the last few days, with first the courtroom trial and then the trial by combat, and then her anxiety over Casavir's sudden, inexplicable melancholy, a calm morning of ordinary domestic activities appealed to Kayla. For a while, it looked like she might have one.

Kayla had finished her devotions by the time Casavir's bath arrived, so she busied herself mending the gashes in his old gambeson while he bathed. She would have to repeat the process with the new one, once it had been washed, but that would have to wait until the laundry was done with it. They did go through gambesons, she reflected, but that was part of The Life, as was mending gear.

They talked of inconsequential things while they were thus occupied, but Kayla was glad to be doing something that felt normal. With Casavir splashing and humming behind the screen, she could almost pretend that it was just his shirt she was mending, not once-bloody rents in a gambeson. She could pretend that the name Garius meant nothing to her, and that she might look forward to a day that included no decisions more important than whether they should buy a new wheelbarrow now or wait until after the harvest.

"Are you well, my lady?" Casavir asked. He had finished his bath and put on the clean leggings, and now stood in front of the table, toweling off his hair and peering at her anxiously.

She laughed. Her daydreams were a lot further off than she thought, if he still could not bring himself to say her name.

"My lady?" he crouched in front of her and moved to take her hand, but stopped himself after impaling himself on her needle.

"Oh Cas," she sighed, turning his hand over to look at the cut. "Everything is fine... apart from your luck. It just struck me as funny, just now, that we spend every day together, and many nights, as well. We all but live together, and you have called me by name precisely once. I suppose a forgetful man might get by for years like that, if he was careful to cultivate a polite persona."

"Have I been careful enough, my lady?" he replied soberly.

Kayla was winding up to swat him when she realized that he was joking. She swatted him anyway, and he stood up, laughing, and went back behind the screen.

She was distracted by a tap on the door.

Shandra stood in the threshold, but she pushed past her into the room as soon as the door was open wide enough to admit her.

"You have to help me," Shandra whispered anxiously.

"What's wrong?" Kayla asked.

"Have you seen my razor?" Casavir interrupted, stepping out from behind the screen. He was still shirtless, but he quickly folded his arms in an attempt to cover his bare chest.

"I'm sorry," Shandra stammered. "I didn't know you had company. Should have, but didn't."

"It's all right," Kayla brushed her apology aside. "Is something the matter?"

"I can't tell you in front of him," Shandra hissed, blushing fiercely.

"Let's step out in the hall," Kayla suggested.

Shandra just took her arm and yanked her toward the door. She did not speak again until a closed door separated her from Casavir.

"I need you to do something for me," Shandra said urgently, "and you can't tell Cas."

"All right," Kayla agreed, puzzled. "What do you want me to do?"

"I did a really, really stupid thing," Shandra said, reddening further, if it was even possible. "I slept with somebody I shouldn't have slept with, and I need you to make me something so that I don't... er... regret it even more in about nine months."

"Oh, no," Kayla groaned. "If you'd asked last night, I could have given you some nararoot to chew, but now... I don't know of anything that will help, taken afterward. Did you ask El?"

"She said she couldn't help me," Shandra said with what sounded like bitterness. "She said that there might be something in this book, but that she it went against her beliefs to attempt to prevent conception after the troops were deployed, if you know what I mean."

Shandra pulled a small, battered book out of the satchel she had slung over her arm and passed it to Kayla.

"This is in elvish, Shandra," Kayla said. "I can't read it."

"I am so screwed!" Shandra groaned.

"Maybe not," Kayla mused. "Cas had an education in the classics, poetry and literature, too. A lot of that is in elvish. Maybe he can read it."

"But then he'll know!" Shandra protested.

"It's that or ask Sand," Kayla shrugged. "At least you know that Cas will keep his mouth shut. You worry too much, though. He won't care what you did last night."

"He will if he finds out who," Shandra sighed. "It was Bishop."

"Bishop!" Kayla gasped. "Why in the nine hells would you do it with him? You hate him!"

"I know!" Shandra groaned. "And I hate him even more, now, but it seemed like a good idea last night."

"Well, let's just take one thing at a time," Kayla tried to reassure her. "And the first thing we have to do is to find out if there's something in that book that will help."

"I guess I don't have any choice," Shandra conceded.

When Kayla opened the door again, Casavir was sitting at her dressing table with a basin of water in front of him. The lower half of his face was soapy, and he had his razor pressed to his cheek.

"Do you read elvish?" Kayla asked him without preamble.

"Yes," he said, taking the razor away from his face. "A little. Is there something you wish me to read?"

"Yes," Kayla replied. "It's _very_ important."

He sighed and toweled the soap off his face. He pulled his shirt over his head and turned to face her.

She handed him the book.

"Just read the titles," she said. "I'll explain later, but no questions now, all right?"

"As you wish," he consented. "'Relief for Monthly Tension,' 'A Cure for Impotence,' 'For the Impatient Man, a Draught to Prolong the Pleasure'... My lady, I beg you, must I really read this?"

"I'm sorry, Cas," Kayla said as soothingly as she could, "if it weren't desperately important, I wouldn't have asked. Please, keep reading."

He shot a long-suffering look over the top of the book, then drew a deep breath and let it out with a sigh.

"Please, Cas," she pleaded. "I'll tell you when you get to the one we need."

"Very well," he sighed, and looked down at the book again.

"'A Potion to Ease the Pangs of Childbirth,' 'Localized Enlargement, for the Man Who Falls Short,' 'Solitary Pleasures, or Advice on the Construction of a Wand for Every Need,' 'A Tonic for the Flagging Libido,' 'A Cure for Morning Sickness,' 'An Elixir to Close the Womb and Prevent the Quickening Thereof' -"

"Stop!" Kayla interjected. "That's the one we want."

"We do?" Casavir blanched. "How is that even possible? We didn't... we didn't. I know we didn't."

"It's for me," Shandra said heavily. "Don't ask."

"Very well," Casavir said, as if relieved to be spared the details. "I will need something to write with."

Half a candle later, Kayla and Shandra were in Sand's shop, brewing the potion that would relieve Shandra's fears, and half a candle after that, it was done. Shandra was still a bit agitated, so they remained in Sand's shop while Shandra regained her composure. It was all Kayla could do to stop herself from asking questions. She told herself that it was none of her business, and after some of the things she herself had done, it would be hypocritical of her to judge. Fortunately, Shandra seemed to feel the need to explain her actions herself.

"It was Bishop that started it," Shandra said. "He wouldn't leave me alone. All night long, he was flirting with me, and by the time you left, he was rubbing my shoulders, and nibbling on my neck, and generally making a pest of himself. Well, for some stupid reason, I thought that if I just let him kiss me, he'd be satisfied and go look for another conquest, like that might actually happen. But never mind. By the time we came up for air, I didn't even care that it was Bishop. He was that good."

Kayla blinked in surprise, but Shandra kept talking.

"I practically dragged him up to my room," Shandra went on. "And it just got better, once we were alone. He actually made me beg for it, and the worst part was that I wanted to."

"And now you regret it?" Kayla asked. She felt like she was missing something important, and that her ignorance was somehow her fault.

"Don't you get it?" Shandra asked impatiently. "It was all about the power. He had me helpless, and he loved it. The whole night was one long ego-jerk for him, and I was just there to give him the grease."

"I'm sorry," Kayla gasped, finally understanding. "That's a terrible thing to wake up to. He didn't force you to do anything, did he?"

"Hells, no," Shandra snorted. "Anything but. That's the reason I'm so angry now, because it was Bishop, and I hate him, and I begged him to hump me anyway. You want to talk about degrading!"

"I wish I knew what to say," Kayla lamented. "I can't even imagine what you must be thinking right now. But you aren't 'degraded'. You did nothing wrong."

"Easy for you to say," Shandra grumbled. "Come on, we'd better get back. If nobody's doing anything this afternoon, I want to train. Beating the crap out of something sounds really good, right about now."

"We need to go to West Harbor again," Kayla said, nibbling her lower lip. "Lorne's mother will have to be told. Not everything. She doesn't need to know that her son betrayed Neverwinter. Maybe we can tell her that he died fighting for what he believed in. And we'll have to tell Bevil. Gently. He worshiped his brother, when he was small."

"Damn, I forgot about that," Shandra sighed. "What am I going to say to Bevil?"

"'I'm sorry about your brother'?" Kayla suggested. "I don't think he'll ask any awkward questions. I doubt we'll be able to get a ship today, anyway. I hate the delay, but we'll never make the tide, and after the expense of our fact-finding tour, it may take me a day or two to free up some funds."

When they got back to the Flagon, Neeshka and Khelgar were already eating breakfast. Kayla got oatmeal for herself and Shandra and joined them. To Kayla's surprise, Bishop came over with a plate of sausages and sat down next to Shandra, putting the plate between them.

"Thought you might be hungry," he said. Kayla waited for the lewd sausage joke that she was certain would follow, but Bishop just speared a link with his knife and started eating it. Shandra, too, looked a bit baffled, though she also looked repulsed. She scooted her chair a little further away from Bishop.

"Sorry," Bishop shrugged. "Guess it's time for a bath."

Casavir set his plate down and sat beside Kayla. He was shaved, so presumably the elven recipe book had not disturbed him too much to complete his toilette.

"Hey, Cas," Khelgar called, "how's the head?"

"Well enough, thank you," Casavir replied, then amended his statement, "with some divine help."

"What's the matter, paladin," Bishop sneered, "too feeble for anything stronger than harsh language?"

No one paid him much heed.

They did not get much further into their breakfasts before a messenger in familiar livery approached them, asking for Kayla.

"I have a message from Aldanon," the messenger said. "He has additional information for you regarding the matter about which you consulted him earlier."

"Thank you," Kayla replied. "I will call on him this morning."

The messenger bowed and left.

"So, who wants to go see Aldanon?" she asked.

"I will go," Casavir said immediately.

"I wouldn't mind the walk," Khelgar said around a mouthful of bacon. "Even if he is a hopeless old windbag."

"I'll go," Neeshka added. "It's fun watching Qara scrub tables, but I can do that any time."

"I'm in," Shandra said, pointedly looking away from Bishop.

"Wouldn't hurt to go out for a stroll," Bishop said promptly.

Shandra sighed exasperatedly, but she made no further objection.

"We can stop in Sand's shop on the way," Kayla suggested. "If Aldanon has learned more about the shards, Sand will want to hear it. And I'll ask Grobnar. He didn't get to meet Aldanon last time, and I think he'll like him."

"That isn't saying much," Bishop scoffed. "Grobnar likes everybody."

"He must not be very selective, if he likes you," Shandra muttered under her breath.

Bishop just smiled, but Shandra jumped.

"Keep your hands to yourself, moron," Shandra hissed.

"Touchy, touchy!" Bishop laughed. "And that isn't what you s-"

"Just shut up!" Shandra snapped.

"You heard the lady," Casavir said menacingly. "She does not desire your attention."

Bishop shrugged and calmly ate the last sausage.

"That isn't what she said last night, either," he replied blandly.

Casavir's eyes widened abruptly, apparently remembering what he had been forced to translate and he looked at Shandra reproachfully, but he made no further comment, for which Kayla was grateful.

Grobnar capered madly at the thought of meeting a renowned sage like Aldanon, which was almost enough to make Kayla revoke her invitation, but Aldanon did have a childlike simplicity about him, for all his acumen. He might not mind Grobnar's exuberance. Sand agreed to the excursion, but his enthusiasm for the outing was less than Kayla expected. Perhaps he feared that the brilliance of his own wit would pale in comparison to Aldanon's. If so, Sand was worrying too much.

Still, they made quite the entourage. Only Qara and Elanee remained behind. With such a large party, it was only natural for them to spread out a bit as they progressed through the Merchant District on the way to Blacklake. Kayla found herself walking beside Sand while Shandra focused all her attention on Casavir, which discouraged Bishop from seeking out her company. Kayla felt a little of her old jealousy about Shandra return, but she reminded herself that if she was as disgusted with herself as Shandra probably was, she would want to do everything she possibly could to avoid the source of her regret.

The met Sergeant Brockenburn at the entrance to Blacklake.

"Thank Helm!" he cried upon seeing them. "I was just running down to the Watch for help. They got Marshal Cormick!"

"Slow down," Kayla said. "Who got him? What do you mean?"

"Thugs, thieves, I don't know," Brockenburn babbled. "There was a to-do at Aldanon's estate, and when we went to investigate, they shot Cormick! With some kind of a wand, right in the gut! They've got him held hostage and they say that they'll kill him if we come any closer."

"Cormick!" Kayla cried. "We have to do something!"

"That's what I hoped you'd say," said Brockenburn. "Come on, we may still be in time to save him."

They hurried the short distance to Aldanon's estate and found a group of armed men huddled in the walled-off garden in front of the house while the Watch looked on, powerless. Kayla could see her friend lying on the ground, bleeding profusely from a belly wound but obviously alive and struggling to get to his feet.

"Not one step closer!" one of the thieves called to the newcomers. "If I see so much as a hand on a weapon, your buddy here gets it!"

"Slow down!" Kayla shouted across the distance. "Nobody needs to get hurt here. Stop struggling, Marshal! We're here to help."

"Just keep back, I say!" the man responded.

"Let me talk to them," Kayla asked Brockenburn. "Maybe there's a simple way to resolve this."

"Well, whatever you're going to do, make it fast," he said. "Don't know how much time the Marshall's got left."

"I'm going to come closer," Kayla said. "I'm not going to attack you. See? I'm handing my weapon to my friend here. Now you've got a weapon and I don't. So we can talk without shouting at each other."

"No weapons, though!"

"No weapons, I promise. My name is Kayla. What's yours?"

"I'm Hewe," the talkative one said, "and this here's Gulver -"

"You idiot!" his friend protested. "What'd you have to give her our names for?"

"She was being polite. 'Sides, she don't care, anyway."

"She's the one that cleaned out the Docks, remember? Good luck getting out of this one, blabbermouth."

"Let's not get carried away!" Kayla hastily interrupted. They would never negotiate if they felt they had nothing left to lose. "We're just having a little chat. No pressure."

"And we've got your friend," Gulver reminded her.

"Yes," Kayla said, "about that. He's in pretty bad shape, and he's no use to you if he dies. How about you let me get a little closer so I can heal him, alright?"

"Uh, yeah," Hewe agreed. "Just keep your hands where I can see them."

They let Kayla reach Cormick's side. It was worse than it looked. He was still alive, but only barely. A quick healing spell helped. He would need more healing still, but she dared not risk anything more dramatic. If Cormick were healthy again, he would want to fight his way out, and that would only get them both killed.

"Is that better?" she asked him softly.

"Just let me at 'em!" Cormick said, his voice weak.

"Shh," she hushed him. "We're just having a little chat here, Cormick. No need to exert yourself."

She turned back to Hewe.

"Now," she said, "I was just going to ask what it would take for you and your men to stand down. We've all had enough excitement for one day, don't you think?"

"We ain't idiots!" Hewe protested, all evidence to the contrary. "We've got demands!"

"Let's hear them, then," she said in as rational a voice as she could muster.

"I won't give the order to stand down until I have your assurance that me and my men walk out of here free men," Hewe said. "No klunking on the back of the head once our backs are turned, no following us home to arrest us tomorrow. We go free or we don't go at all."

"That doesn't sound unreasonable," Kayla said. "Don't you agree, Cormick?"

"You're letting them go?" Cormick sputtered, vainly trying to rise to his elbows.

"If they answer our questions, why not?" Kayla prayed that her one-time superior would see the sense in it. "The real criminals are inside the house, and I'm sure these are all just law-abiding citizens tempted a little too much by the promise of easy coin. Now that they've seen how bloody foolish it was, they won't be making that mistake again any time soon, will you, gentlemen?"

"No, ma'am," Gulver piped in. "Straight and narrow for me from here on out."

"That's what I thought," she smiled. "So what do you say, shall we give these men a second chance?"

"Alright, alright," Cormick agreed reluctantly. "Tell Brockenburn I said so. But first, you answer our questions."

"Anything you say, sir," Hewe agreed amiably.

"You do it, Kayla," Cormick said, sinking back down. She used another light healing spell on him, then turned back to Hewe.

"How many are inside the house?" she asked.

"Twenty, maybe," the newly-minted upstanding citizen replied. "Maybe closer to thirty. Old Scab heard there was rich pickings, so he brought a large group. Me and Gulver had no stomach for house-breaking, so we were just meant to keep watch."

"Old Scab?" she prompted.

"He's the one in charge," Gulver said. "Shadow Thief, maybe? Bigger than Moire's boys. Right nasty piece of work, with his poxy face and stinking traps."

"Traps, you say?"

"Aye, he's a clever one," Gulver went on. His knowledge of the theif's habits suggested more than a short-term acquaintance, but it was too late for Kayla to revoke her promise now. "With as much time as he's had in there, he'll have the place rigged up like a Calishite galley. Go softly, once you're in, or he'll know you're coming for him before you go six paces."

"Anything else I should be aware of?" Kayla asked.

"You'd better not delay too long," Gulver said. "Old Scab's got a nasty, sadistic streak to him. If there's servants alive in that house, he'll have 'em all up for torture, once he's done looting the place."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said. "I'm going to call one of my friends over to tend the Watch marshal while I explain the situation to the sergeant."

At Hewe's nod, Kayla waved Casavir forward and left him tending Cormick. Sgt. Brockenburn was not eager to let Hewe and his men go free, but he was not about to contradict his superior's orders. With the released robbers dispersed, Kayla and the rest of her companions were free to enter the house. She left Cormick in Sgt. Brockenburn's hands with instructions that he should be taken to the nearest temple without delay.

"Here's your big chance to show off, Neeshka," she said. "They said the place is heavily trapped, so we'll need all of your cunning for this job."

"Ooh, I love this part!" Neeshka said happily and set to work searching the tiles of the entry passage.

While Neeshka was busy with that, Kayla pulled Casavir aside for a quiet word.

"Thank you for not arguing about letting them go," she said. "I know it must have bothered you."

"You gave me no opportunity to protest," said Casavir. "Once Marshal Cormick agreed to the deal, there was little I could say against it."

"I know," she sighed. "I hope it won't come back to bite us later, but I thought it was our best chance to end the stand-off without a fight."

"What is done is done," he said coolly. Kayla winced. "Let us now look to the consequences."

The consequences included several snares and pitfalls, they found. With patience and perseverance, however, Kayla still hoped to avoid the worst of them. In her heart, she was thinking of more than the ones uncovered through Neeshka's talents.


End file.
